


What happens in Vegas...

by redtoes



Series: What happens in Vegas [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Las Vegas, Memory Loss, Morning after the night before, Waking Up Married, diamond heist, foiling nefarious plans, pretending to be a couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 48,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoes/pseuds/redtoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity wake up married in Las Vegas. But it's not what you think... It's memory loss and fake relationships and diamond heists and dealing with inquisitive journalists. Smut barely enters into it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abbie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/gifts).



> I own nothing and I blame Abbie

She wakes up.

Her head hurts.

Felicity groans and the noise hurts her ears. She raises a hand to her head and the movement makes her dizzy.

She opens bleary eyes. Her eyelashes have that gritty horrible feeling that tells her she slept in her make up.

Her raging hangover tells her she was drunk last night.

A glint of gold on her ring finger catches her eye and sends an adrenalin shot through her brain, forcing her eyes wide open and focused onto the plain gold band on the third finger of her left hand.

What the fuck?

She doesn’t swear much. Doesn’t often need to, despite the many and varied parts of her life - especially the Oliver parts - that should really drive her to it.

She stays cheerful. She's always found that flusters people a lot more than breaking out the f-words.

But if there was ever a moment for swearing...

She’s wearing a wedding ring on her finger and she can't remember anything since lunch time yesterday and -

Oh my God.

And she’s naked in a bed that isn’t hers.

And she’s not alone.

Felicity sits up, pulling the sheets with her.

Okay, this is not her first rodeo. She’s woken up with regrets before.

Not married admittedly but maybe this is all a bad joke. A really bad joke.

Ever so slowly she turns her head to the right, her eyes moving over the sheet covered male body beside her.

Until she spots the tattoo on his shoulder blade.

Oliver’s tattoo.

Oliver.

If she got drunk last night and slept with Oliver and now she can't remember it she’s going to be so pissed at herself.

She looks at the ring on her hand.

She couldn’t have. Could she?

Could he?

Oh the great god Google forgive her, she just might.

Oliver, at least, still appears to be asleep.

Looking around, she realises she’s not in her room or his room. This is a whole new room. And it's a whole new room that screams bridal suite in the most tacky language possible.

She’s currently lying under red silk sheets. There are rose petals on the floor. There's a half empty bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses on the side. One of them has a stain the colour of her lipstick on the rim.

She shifts in bed and she knows - she knows - she had sex last night. Her body feels achy and sticky in all the best ways and she can't believe it.

She really did get drunk enough to sleep with Oliver - Oliver, her long-standing crush Oliver, gorgeous Oliver, completely unattainable Oliver - and she can't remember it.

This sucks.

She spies a shirt on the floor nearby. It's about the only clothing she can see, so she slips from the covers and dashes across the room.

Her head aches and her body resents her but she manages to pull the shirt on and button it up before she hears the first sleepy murmur from behind her.

Oliver’s waking.

Felicity steels herself. She has no idea what his reaction will be - to the rings, to the bed, to her. The last time she asked him about his love life he informed her that Laurel had broken up with him - again - and that he didn't want to talk about it. She's respected that about as much as she can in the weeks since.

And now this.

She honestly doesn't know whether she wants him to have his memory or not. Which is worse? Which is better? She doesn't know.

She pads around to his side of the bed on silent feet. She doesn’t have her glasses - and where are they, by the way? - but even her eyesight can make out the hickeys, scratches and bruises that litter his upper body.

She wonders just how many of them she’s responsible for.

It’s not fair. 

If she was going to get drunk enough to sleep with Oliver Queen the world should at least have left her with a few memories. It looks like it was a lot of fun.

It feels like it was a lot of fun. Her body (or at least the bits of it not horrendously hungover) has that languid stretched feeling of the morning after sex, as if he pinned her down and pushed one knee to her chest as he entered her, or as if she rode him for hours. It feels like there might be stubble burns on her inner thighs.

Mental images assail her; glimpses from her imagination. She’s sure the real thing was ten times better and now she'll never know. She threw away her shot with him on a drunken one night stand and things are going to be so awkward now. 

She’s blushing and she’s nervous and he’s waking up.

He rolls onto his back and stretches up.

The sheet slips down his abdomen, revealing a line of hickeys moving ever lower.

She flushes. She did that. And she knows how that particular move of hers ends.

And she can't remember a thing about it.

She sighs and Oliver is immediately awake, his eyes spring open and lock onto hers and his hands come down in a guard gesture before he realises it’s just her standing in front of him and not a threat.

“Felicity?”

“Oliver,” she greets him. She twists the ring on her finger round and round. She's only known she’s had it for minutes and already she has a nervous tic about it.

“Felicity?” He says, his brow furrowed, “why are you wearing my shirt?”

“What do you remember?”

She has to give him this, he listens to her. He’s got to want answers but she asked him a different question and he’s immediately focussed on that. She can actually see him turn his attention inwards, searching for memories.

“Medium-rare steak,” he says, “and red wine. Lunch?”

“Yeah that’s what I’ve got too. Though I had a salad. Chicken Caesar.”

“Felicity,” he says, “why am I naked?”

“Oh Oliver,” she sighs, holding up her hand so he can see the ring, “this is so much worse than that.”


	2. Rings

The ring is gold. That much he can tell. It is plain and simple, but not cheap. There’s a weight to it. An age.

He’d bet money it is antique.

Which seems odd. If they really had, as the evidence suggested, gotten married in a drunken moment, why would the rings be so...permanent. Aren't walk-in wedding chapel rings flimsy by nature?

“Come here,” he says, holding out his right hand to her but not looking up from his contemplation of the jewellery on his left hand.

Nothing happens. He looks up to see Felicity staring at him and his offered hand like a deer in the headlights. 

“Felicity,” he says, “I need to see your ring.”

“Oh,” she says. She takes a step closer and holds out her hand.

But she’s still too far away to see clearly so he scoots to the edge of the bed, bunching the sheets around his waist as he moves.

She lets out a squeak and when he looks up from her hand to her face he sees she has her eyes squeezed closed.

“Felicity,” he chides.

“You’re naked!” She blurts. “And I'm almost naked and we-” She makes a sound of annoyed frustration and buries her face in her hands.

Which has the unfortunate side effect of taking the ring out of his immediate view again.

Oliver sighs and pulls on the sheet.

“Can you see any other clothing?” He asks.

Felicity, apparently easily distracted, immediately starts running around the unfamiliar room. He tries hard not to look at her legs as she goes. His shirt is large on her but not quite long enough. 

She dashes into the bathroom and he hears her swear.

“Nothing?” He says, wishing he could be surprised.

“Nothing!” She says, sounding like she’s on the edge of panic. “There isn't even a bathrobe! I don't understand it. Why take all our clothes and leave a shirt?”

“It's okay,” he says. He shuffles himself across the bed to where the room phone is on the bedside table.

He lifts the receiver and dials zero.

“Reception!”

“Hello,” Oliver says, calmly, “this is room,” he checks he phone, “901.”

“Yes, Mr Queen?”

Ah, so wherever he is, he checked in under his own name.

“Yes. Do you have a dry cleaning delivery for me?”

“Yes, Mr Queen, I’ll send it right up.”

“Thank you,” he says, “could you also send up some breakfast? A full spread for two?”

“Yes sir,” the voice on the other end of the phone says. “Right away.”

Oliver drops the phone back into its cradle and sighs. He had thought his days of waking up in unfamiliar hotel rooms without his memory were behind him.

Apparently not.

Felicity makes a sound of triumph from the other side of the room and holds up her handbag.

“Found my bag!”

He can’t help but smile at her joyous relief.

“And,” she says, pulling a small case out of the bag, “even better, I found my glasses!”

She puts them on and grins at him and he feels something in his chest ache.

They haven't talked about it yet but at least one part of last night is clear to him even without his memory. Last night, for whatever reason, they crossed the line from friends to lovers. Possibly even spouses, though the first seems much more momentous and harder to fix.

A marriage can be dissolved in this city far easier than a friendship can be rebuilt. 

Felicity spins happily on her feet, his shirt lifting up in the breeze.

“You’ll get dizzy,” he says, then pauses.

Dizzy. 

Vertigo.

The mission.

“Felicity,” he says, suddenly serious, “you said you remembered lunch. Do you remember who we ate with?”

She pauses, considering.

“Your friend,” she says, “Matthew? Martin?”

“Matthew,” he confirms, “Matthew Arnstein. But he’s not really a friend.”

“I know,” she says, “but ’old college buddy whose drug links you’re using to try and track down a new source of Vertigo’ is a bit of a mouthful. And you seemed on good enough terms.”

“Acquaintances at best,” he says.

“Whatever,” she says, “I remember him, at lunch.” She scrunched up her forehead as she thinks. It looks adorable.

In fact, Felicity, with her hair down, in his shirt, wearing nothing else but her glasses, scrunching up her forehead, looks so goddamn sexy it almost takes his breath away.

“He invited us to a party,” she says eventually. She looks down at herself with a rueful grin. “I think we went.”

He snorts just as a knock comes at the door.

She looks at him, all deer in the headlights once more.

“It's either breakfast or clothing,” he says but she doesn’t make a move.

He sighs and stands up, pulling the sheet from the bed to wrap it around his waist. She makes a soft eep noise and runs into the bathroom.

Oliver checks through the peephole and opens the door.

He was wrong. It’s breakfast and clothing.

He lets the porter and the waiter unload then looks around for his wallet. He finds it beside the ice bucket containing a particularly nice bottle of champagne he has no memory of drinking.

He tips both men $20. If this does end up in the press at least they can't call him cheap.

Felicity emerges as he pulling the plastic covering off of his suit. 

“You sent our clothes out to be cleaned?”

“Last night probably,” he nods. “Old habit. I used to do this a lot.”

“Wake up married?” She asks, but her tone is more teasing than it has been so far this morning. Proximity to clothing has evidently calmed her.

“Wake up without my memory,” he shrugs. He doesn’t say anything about who he woke up with but she knows enough about his past to make educated guesses. He hopes she doesn’t think he’s lumping her in the anonymous women of his past.

“I bet,” she says. 

She reaches for the dress hanging beside his suit. It's not an outfit he can remember seeing her wear before and it’s not what she was wearing to the lunch they both attended where she played the part of his fun-loving girlfriend.

He wonders where she got it.

This suit is definitely his suit. As are the undershirt, boxer shorts, socks and tie in the accompanying plastic bag. 

Felicity gathers her pile of clothes and heads for the bathroom. Once she’s shut the door he drops the sheet and pulls on boxers and pants. She’s still got his shirt, so he doesn’t have that but the undershirt will work for now.

As he dresses he notices a new pain on his back. When he rests his hand on the skin it feels tender, hot.

It also feels familiar.

Oliver turns to the mirror and lifts his shirt and sure enough, there it is.

There’s a shriek from the bathroom, and he runs for the door instinctively. She didn't lock it so it opens easily enough and there’s Felicity, wearing panties and holding his shirt up against her chest, and staring at her lower back in the mirror. 

Her eyes meet his in the glass.

“When did I get a tattoo?”

“We,” he says, lifting his shirt to show her and absently noticing that it's the same intricate design etched into both of their skins. “The question is when did we get tattoos?”

She stares at him in horror.

“What the hell happened last night?”

He doesn't have an answer.


	3. The facts

At least she’s dressed now.

And the quick shower she took did a lot to clear her head.

She’s very impressed with herself frankly. She woke up with no memory and a wedding ring beside her crush-worthy super hero boss whom she definitely just slept with and she’s still managing to do things like breathe and talk like a normal person.

Denial is such a useful emotional state.

Felicity butters a piece of toast.

She feels a little odd eating breakfast in what appears to a designer cocktail dress she’s never seen before but it's better than wearing Oliver's shirt.

Though admittedly, Oliver’s shirt was actually slightly longer on her than this dress. She has no idea how she could have gotten through an evening in this and not accidentally flashed anyone.

“So what do we know?” Oliver says. He paces about the room, moving like a caged animal - or at least a caged animal with an overly large coffee mug and a headache.

She offered him painkillers. He said ’no.’ She thinks that was an unnecessary level of bravado on his part.

If his head feels half as bad as hers he should have accepted the Tylenol and been grateful.

“Okay,” Felicity says between bites. “It is ten am on Sunday. Neither of us have any memories since noon Saturday, which is very specific timing if this is all down to booze.”

“So let’s assume it’s not alcohol,” he says.

“Drugs?”

“We did come here looking for Vertigo,” he shrugs, “I'd say we found it.”

“Boo,” she says, “my almost perfect record of ’just say no’ is ruined.”

“This isn’t funny Felicity.”

“Of that,” she says, “I am perfectly aware.”

He pauses in his pacing to glare at her. She stares back at him. Then takes a bite of her toast. She refuses to let him intimidate her. The thing they’re both not saying is what they both know they both did last night. And the consequences of that are just too damn big to think about right now. A standard Oliver-glare doesn’t come close to the expression her mother will wear when she finds out her little girl re-enacted a Carrie Underwood song.

Oliver scowls and resumes his walk.

Felicity eats her toast.

“So we were drugged,” she says, “by who?”

“Right now I'm thinking Matthew,” he says. “Or one of Matthew’s friends.”

“Okay,” she says, “so that’s step one, find Matthew.”

He nods.

“Where are we?” She says, looking around. “I mean, I know it's a hotel, but where? This doesn’t look like the suite you booked at the Mirage.”

Oliver winces. It’s small and he tries to hide it, but she's worked with him too long for him to be able to keep it from her.

“What?” She says, “what is it?”

“There’s a brochure on the desk,” he says, “we’re currently in the honeymoon suite of the Las Vegas Lover’s Lane boutique.”

“Las Vegas Lover’s Lane boutique?” She repeats back at him.

He nods.

“Wow,” she says, “what a cliche.”

His mouth quirks into a smile.

“So I guess we’re in the seedy part of Vegas? And yes, I know, all of Vegas is the seedy part but this has a big Superman II honeymoon suite vibe going on. I mean, red silk sheets? Seriously?”

His smile almost becomes a grin, but he glances down at his ring and his face darkens.

“Alright,” she sighs and pulls her tablet out of her bag, “what else do we know?”

“I don't have my cell,” he says, “but I do have my wallet.”

“Everything is there in my bag,” she says, navigating to one of the apps of her own creation while also triggering a search of gossip sites for any incriminating photos. This was Oliver Queen she was with, there's a more than outside chance there's some cellphone footage online somewhere.

The hotel’s wifi is free and unsecured and she uses that to slip into their system.

“We checked in at 10:45 last night,” she says, “walked in off the street. There’s a note here from the desk clerk saying you gave him $100 to not tip off the press.”

Oliver grunts but she can tell he’s pleased to hear it.

“They delivered champagne and apparently also ice cream at 11.10,” she glances around the room, “but I don't see any bowls.”

Oliver crosses to the trash can.

“Empty tub of Ben and Jerry's,” he says.

“They charged us $25 for that,” Felicity notes absently. “What a rip off.”

“Felicity,” Oliver says still staring into the trash can, “I don't quite know how to say this so I’m just going to say it. There are condoms in here.”

“Ah.” Felicity feels herself blush and can't look at him. She can see out of the corner of her eye how very much he is not looking at her either.

The mutual silence of embarrassment stretches between them. 

“Well,” she says, rubbing her hands together nervously, “at least we were safe.”

“Yes, he says immediately and in a strained voice. “Safe.”

He looks up, meets her eyes and then looks away.

Felicity sighs.

“I really don't really want to be the needy girl here,” she says, “but do we need to talk about this?”

“I don’t know,” he says and licks his lips. Her eyes are drawn instantly to the motion and now it's her turn to look away from him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

Felicity looks down at her tablet and is suddenly, desperately happy to see Oliver's credit card transactions from the last 24 hours come up on her screen.

“I've got your card records,” she says, “you spent a lot of money somewhere called Krystall last night.” She looks up at him and tries to smile. “Sounds like a stripper name.”

“It’s a club,” he says, “Matthew told me about it. He had a table booked there, that was where he wanted to take us.”

“Well, it looks like that part of the plan worked out,” she says. 

He steps in close, looking over her shoulder at the tablet. She's suddenly very aware of him in a way she hasn't been since she first met him. Aware of the size and bulk and presence of him. Right there.

“Chips at the Grand,” he says, reading off the list, “champagne at Krystall. And $789 at a sporting goods store.” He pauses. “You don't think...”

Felicity already has the Google search running.

“I do think,” she sighs as the news results come back. “The Hood made an appearance in Vegas last night.”

“Great,” Oliver says, clenching his fists. “Perfect.”

Felicity shifts to a new window and keeps typing.

“LVPD has better security than SCPD,” she remarks offhandedly, “must be that whole city of sin thing.”

She glances up at him. “It’ll take me a while to crack it.”

Her phone chirps and she reaches for it.

“Hey John,” she says, “I'm putting you on speaker.”

She hits the button and holds the phone out so Oliver can hear too.

“Felicity, Oliver.” Diggle says, his voice made tinny by the speakers. “How are you this fine morning?”

Felicity looks at Oliver who makes a slicing gesture.

“We’re okay,” she says, “we think we may have found a supplier of the new strain of Vertigo.”

“Really,” Diggle says and she can hear his amusement from here, “why don't you tell me about that, Mrs Queen?”


	4. The picture

“You know?” Felicity tries hard not to shriek but it still comes out shrill.

“Felicity,” Diggle says in his reasonable voice, “you texted me a picture. I spent most of the rest of the night trying to get you on the phone until your husband there told me he was throwing his phone in the fountain at the Bellagio and taking you to bed and if I called again I was fired.”

Felicity gapes at Oliver. He lifts a hand and rubs it over the back of his head, once again refusing to look at her.

“And obviously I'm happy for you crazy kids and all,” Diggle says, “but you were stoned out of your minds, right?”

Felicity looks at Oliver. He’s still not looking at her.

“Yes,” she says, “we think it was Vertigo.”

“I thought it might be,” Diggle says, “I assume you didn’t take it by choice. Do you need me there?”

“No,” Oliver finally speaks. “And no. I need you to Hood up and do something newsworthy in Starling City while I am very much on show in Vegas being Oliver Queen.”

“You need an alibi?”

“As well as...everything else that happened last night,” Felicity says, “Oliver apparently bought a bow. And there are reports of the Hood crashing some party.”

“Which party?” Oliver asks.

Felicity hands Oliver her tablet to read the badly written and in-need-of-a-copy-edit blog post she just found on a Las Vegas gossip site.

“It doesn't say,” she says for Diggle’s benefit while Oliver reads. “It's anonymised.”

“Could it be Krystall?” Oliver wonders aloud.

“Crystal? Is that a stripper name?” Diggle asks.

“A club,” Oliver says shortly, not amused.

Felicity hides a smile. One of the things she loves about John is that his mind works the same way hers does.

“Here’s something,” Oliver says, “this blog says the Hood attacked at 11.”

“Oh,” Felicity realises, “but we were checked in here by then.”

“Oliver,” Diggle says, “how do you not know which party you crashed?”

“This new type of Vertigo,” Oliver explains, “has all the effects of the original; lightheadedness, poor impulse control, euphoria, plus a nifty new side effect - amnesia.”

“We can't remember anything after lunch yesterday,” Felicity chimes in.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“A lot happened yesterday,” Diggle says, “you called me, several times.”

“What did we say?” Felicity asks.

“Mostly you talked about each other,” Diggle says.

Felicity blushes and sneaks a look at Oliver. He's looking elsewhere. Again.

“Anything about the case?” Oliver says.

“You said there was a distribution centre in Vegas and that your contact was taking you there. Then you told me that Felicity has hair like sunshine and you thought you might design a boxing glove arrow when you get back.”

Felicity closes her eyes. She really doesn't want to see Oliver’s reaction to that one.

“As I said,” Diggle adds “you were stoned.”

“What time was this?”

“Three, maybe four pm,” Diggle says, “but you said you weren’t meeting the contact until eight. And you told me not to worry. Then you said there was something you had to do and rang off. I got the text with the picture at seven.”

Felicity's phone buzzes in her hand. She opens her eyes to see a picture pop up on screen.

It's a photo of Oliver kissing her, bent over his arm. Her hands are on his face, the ring clearly visible. Confetti is falling around them and they are standing under a "just married!" banner in what is quite clearly in a wedding chapel.

“So you two really don't remember this?” Diggle asks over the phone.

“No,” Oliver says. “We don't remember any of it.”

Felicity stares at the photo.

In the picture she looks so happy. Oliver looks so happy. She can't quite believe something like that is real.

She make a small noise in her throat and when she looks up Oliver is staring at her. 

His gaze feels like it burns and she shoves the phone into his hand and runs for the bathroom, grabbing her bag on the way.

She closes the door behind her and sinks down against it.

This is real. This is happening.

Up until now it had seemed like some kind of cosmically bad joke, but that photo. That happy tiny instant of time captured by a lens. That makes this whole thing real.

She looks down at her hand and pulls off the ring. She holds it up to the light, trying to make out some kind of detail. Anything that will make this all make sense.

It’s a plain band out the outside but the inside is engraved in a pattern of overlapping triangles, all pointing in the same direction. 

They look not unlike arrow heads. 

A ring, plain on the surface but with a message hidden away for those that know.

It means something.

It suggests that they weren’t just inebriated. They hasn’t just lost their minds. They made a decision - an impulsive one to be sure but a decision none the less - and they followed it through. She wishes she could remember it.

For several hours yesterday Oliver Queen wanted her more than anything else on the planet. Now he can't even look at her.

Felicity looks down at the cocktail dress she’s wearing and realises that it’s cream.

This isn't just a cocktail dress.

It's a wedding dress.

It’s her wedding dress.

After that when tears come she doesn’t try to stop them.

* * *

“We can get it annulled,” he says when she finally leaves the bathroom.

“I know,” she says. Her make up is perfect and her eyes aren't red and if he didn’t know her as well as he does he wouldn’t be able to see it but despite what Diggle says he’s not an idiot, he knows that she has been crying.

She retrieves her tablet from the table and sits down. She focuses on the screen and starts tapping away, professional as ever.

“I'm sorry,” he says. And he is. He’s brought nothing to her life but danger and misery and he hates the idea that's he’s also tainted whatever dreams and aspirations she had for her wedding day.

Not to mention the fact that he’s pretty sure neither of them were in the mental state to consent last night. 

“Look,” he says, “it's fine, we’ll get this annulled and I’ll track down whoever it was who spiked our drinks and we’ll destroy him and then we get to go home and things will go back to normal.”

“Sure,” she says brightly. A touch too brightly.

He presses his lips together. He’s not sure whether she’ll accept comfort from him right now but he can't do nothing. He has to try.

He steps up behind her and squeezes her shoulder.

“Felicity.” 

She looks up at him with an expression that is both happy and heartbreaking. And before he’s even thought about it he’s bending down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Felicity freezes, and he suddenly remembers that they don't have the kind of relationship that includes comforting forehead kisses.

But it had felt completely and utterly natural. It felt like exactly the right thing to do and he doesn’t want to regret it.

And she’s just sitting there, frozen and shocked and it occurs to him he could just tilt her head back, bring his lips to hers and he has to remind himself that this is not him, is not them.

That whatever they did under the influence yesterday was a mistake and wrong and not them.

Because even if Felicity is wearing his ring right now that doesn't make her his wife.

His wife.

Abruptly Oliver straightens and steps back.

He thinks about apologising again but won’t that just highlight the fact that he just kissed her? Platonically admittedly, but still?

He walks away from her, noticing in the reflection on the window that she's staring at him. 

“I’m beginning to wonder if this is a set up,” Oliver says, not looking at her but keeping an eye on her reflection.

Felicity starts, then covers her reaction and if he wasn't surreptitiously watching her in every reflective surface in the room he’d never even know she was bothered.

“How do you mean?”

“The timings are tight,” he says, “and I could be wrong. But I just don't see how we could have checked in at 10:45 then shot up a party across town at 11, then be here eating ice cream at 11.10.”

“I could have eaten the ice cream alone.”

“No,” he says, ”my instincts say no.” He doesn't mention the sense memory he had when he looked in the trash can - the oh so vivid flash of licking ice cream off of her hip.

“Surely we could have eaten ice cream at any point?” she says, her brow furrowed.

“Trust me,” he says, willing her not to ask. “After 11 we did not leave this room.”

Felicity flushes then tries to cover it.

He has another thought he must have learned last night just how far down her blushes go. He wishes he could remember it.

“Okay,” she says with a decisive little nod. “So maybe someone drugged us so they could set the Hood up for something? Which means,” she says with dawning comprehension, “that someone in this city knows that you are the Hood.”

Oliver's already followed this thought to its conclusion. He nods grimly.

“Oliver,” she says, “give me your wallet.”

He hand it over instantly and she searches through it.

“The credit card I pulled up your purchase history for,” she says, “it's not here.” She looks up at him. “That's the card that $789 was spent on. The same card you used at Krystall.”

“This is a set-up,” he agrees. “We’re caught right in the middle of it.”

“But what are they setting you up for?” Felicity asks. “As far as we know no one was hurt at the party. What’s their endgame?”

“We need to talk to Matthew,” Oliver says, “see what he knows.”

“Well you’re in luck,” Felicity says, “I’ve rooted your cell messages through my tablet and Matthew has just texted to confirm lunch.”

“We wouldn't want to keep him waiting.” Oliver says grimly.

“Can we go back to the hotel first, our rooms in the suite?” She asks. “This dress isn't really suitable for lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, “C’mon, let’s go.”

She sweeps the tablet, phone and assorted odds and ends into her handbag and stands up.

“It’ll be good to be back in my own clothes,” she says and there’s a tone to her voice he can’t quite place.

He’d like to ask her but she’s already walking away. And so he takes on last look at the room, this room that he wishes he could remember more of, and follows.


	5. Lunch

Felicity tries her best not to hurry, but when they finally make it back to the Mirage and are walking down the corridor to the two bedroom suite Oliver had originally reserved, her feet seem to speed up all on their own and she makes it to the door several moments before he does.

The key card is in her hand and nothing electrical has ever been able to resist her so she’s through the door immediately and practically runs for her room.

She has to get this dress off.

She has to.

“Felicity?” Oliver calls after her but she’s already gone.

She reaches up behind her for the zip on the back but she can't quite seem to reach it. It’s annoying - she didn't have any trouble fastening it earlier but now her fingers can't seem to find the tab and she can’t get it off and she’s about to scream in frustration when she feels a soft hand on her shoulder.

Felicity freezes, but Oliver doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he holds her shoulder with one hand and pulls the zip on her dress down a few inches with the other. Then he moves her hand so her fingers can grab the tab.

“We’ve got ten minutes,” he says, standing behind her. “Yell if you need anything.”

She nods, not looking at him and not quite trusting her voice right now, but then he’s gone, and she hears the soft click of the door shutting behind him.

Felicity sags.

Sighs.

Her fingers pull down the zip and she slips the dress off her shoulders to pool around her feet.

It's a beautiful dress really; soft cream silk folds and the subtle hint of silver embroidery.

She never wants to see it again.

She kicks it aside with a foot and heads for the bathroom. Ten minutes isn’t enough time to do anything with her hair but she can spend 30 seconds in the shower if it means that the feel of that dress is permanently gone from her skin.

She tucks her hair under a shower cap and does her patented jump in, soap, jump out shower technique that she uses when she’s late for work.

She's in and out in 2 minutes, dressed in fresh underwear a minute later and looking at her wardrobe 30 seconds after that.

Today is a lunch date followed by interrogation and investigation. Oliver will be wearing one of his suits, so she goes for a smart sundress with a fitted skirt. It's designer - Oliver offered her a credit card to be sure they both looked the part on this little excursion - but it's still more her than it is Stepford Wife.

Just.

She steps into it and does the zip up - pleased to find it’s under her arm so there’s no chance of being trapped this time.

She eschews the heels at she's supposed to wear in favor of a pair of colorful ballet flats. After all, she might need to run at some point. 

She puts in her contacts, touches up her make up, and is securing her hair in its usual ponytail when Oliver knocks on her door.

“Come in!”

And he does. 

As expected, he’s in another of his well cut grey suits and a light blue shirt open at the neck. She’s seen him in it before - she thinks of it as his club owner disguise.

“You look very pretty,” Oliver says and she reflects for a second that despite the drinking, cheating and shooting people full of holes that he’s been known for in different parts of his life, his mother really raised him well on the always remember to compliment a girl part.

“Thank you,” she says. She reaches up to apply a last coat of lipstick and notices her ring in the mirror. Her eyes drop to his hand and sure enough he’s still wearing his.

“Should we be wearing the rings,” she says, “I mean, if you’re going to get it annulled?”

Oliver’s jaw clenches.

“I don't know what Matthew knows,” he says, “and given that we sent a picture to Diggle it might be wider knowledge that we would have thought.” He looks up and meets her eye. “We should keep them on until we know more.”

“So I'm back to playing your girlfriend for Matthew?” She asks, remembering their plan of pretending to be party-loving couple in order to find the Vertigo supplier. They’d only been keeping up the pretence for about half an hour when her memory goes dark but she can still remember the feel of his arm around her shoulders and the giggly way she laughed at his jokes. It had all come surprisingly easy considering she’d never thought she was that good of an actress.

“I think that's for the best,” he says. 

“Okay.” Mentally Felicity steels herself. This was a lot easier yesterday when she knew there was no chance it would ever happen for real. 

But then, what's changed? They might have happened but it wasn't in a real way. Just another reason to just say no.

Oliver certainly doesn't seem like he wants anything to happen again. He’s treating her more like a sister than ever - comforting forehead kisses and platonically unzipping dresses.

She needs to let this crush of hers go.

She retrieves her handbag from the bed. It doesn't really match the outfit but she’s not going anywhere without her tablet today.

“Was there a bow?” She asks, “In your room?”

“No,” he says, “but I wasn't expecting one. Whoever set us up has it.”

“You up,” she says, “not us. I doubt I featured in anyone’s plans.”

He gives her an odd look but doesn’t say anything and she allows him to usher her out of the suite and down to the restaurant.

* * *

Matthew Arnstein is exactly what she thought Oliver was when she met him. A charming playboy with money to burn and a life entirely dedicated to pleasure.

Okay, maybe that’s not exactly what she thought of Oliver when she met him, but that’s certainly how he was portrayed in the press and first impressions do tend to linger.

In Matthew’s company Oliver is his press persona - brash, showy, even a little rude. He keeps one hand on her at all times as if he has to show off his ownership - there's always an arm around her shoulders, a hand on her knee or resting on her lower back.

She's there as an accessory - make him look good and laugh at his jokes - not to talk, so she's really surprised when Matthew greets Oliver with a half hug and her with a kiss on the cheek, seemingly delighted to see both of them.

“And how are my favorite newlyweds?” Matthew asks, grinning widely.

“You got us out of bed,” Oliver jokes, “you tell me.”

“Ollie,” Matthew says, mock hurt, “this lunch was your idea remember? Fizzy and I,” he gestures at Felicity and she realises with a shock that he knows her childhood nickname, “we told you you would want to rain check but you wouldn't hear of it.”

“Ah,” Oliver says, scratching his head in an obvious gesture of embarrassment, “last night is a little fuzzy...”

“Not the important parts I hope,” Matthew says, nudging Felicity with a wink.

Oliver glances at Felicity but she has no advice to offer. She feels wrong-footed; she expected Matthew to be less cheerful and more sinister. 

“Some of the important parts,” Oliver admits.

“No!” Matthew says, apparently genuinely disappointed for them, “you remember your proposal, right?”

“No.”

“Oh my God,” Matthew says, clutching his chest in an overly dramatic manner. “Fiz, how will you ever forgive him?”

“I don't know,” she says when it becomes obvious the two of them expect her to respond.

“You should divorce this clown,” Matthew says, waggling his eyebrows at her, “and run away with me. I promise you all the red wine you can drink. My father has a much better cellar than the Queens as you know.”

Matthew wraps an arm around Felicity’s shoulders and pulls her away from Oliver’s hand on her back. 

“I’ve got the best table here,” he says, “come on.” 

He walks her through the restaurant, chattering away the whole time about vineyards and chateaus and how Felicity really must get Oliver to bring her out to California in the fall.

“We can do a day of tastings,” he says, “just like we agreed. We can take my driver and I’ll arrange some private tastings for you. It’ll be great!”

Felicity looks back to Oliver, shooting him a helpless look. She can't read the expression on his face but she doesn't think this is going quite as he expected it to either.

“H is running late,” Matthew says, and her attention snaps back in on the conversation. “She said she’d be here in 10 minutes or so.”

Felicity looks to Oliver but he just gives a tiny shrug. Obviously he doesn't know who Matthew means either.

Matthew pulls out a chair for her and she sits. Oliver slips in beside her. 

She’s nervous and thirsty and her hand goes straight for the glass of water once the waiter pours it, but Oliver snags her fingers and pulls them back, keeping her hand inside his.

“Don't drink anything yet,” he whispers in her ear. He disguises the motion by laying a soft kiss on her neck and she can't repress the fact that she shivers at the touch.

She turns her head slightly towards him, half-instinct, half-craving and suddenly his lips are right there.

There's a pause, and then he pecks her lightly with a kiss to cover his hesitation.

Stupid. So stupid. If she'd stayed still that wouldn’t have happened.

But then if she'd stayed still that wouldn't have happened.

Felicity feels herself blush and hears Matthew laugh.

“When you’re married,” he says, “you’re allowed to kiss your husband.”

“It's encouraged,” Oliver quips.

“It's all so new,” Felicity says, trying to sound carefree.

“I hope you always blush for me,” Oliver says, “it's adorable.”

“She is adorable,” Matthew agrees. “I really can't believe how you two met. There's no one in the IT department at my father’s company who looks anything like you, Fiz.”

Oliver tenses beside her but Felicity makes herself laugh.

“Maybe you’re just not looking hard enough.”

“Maybe, but I doubt H would like that.”

Another reference to the mysterious H. A friend? A girlfriend? Felicity ponders.

“And all those stories of the jobs you gave her to do,” Matthew laughs, “and ’I ran out of sports bottles.’ Classic!”

Now it's Felicity's turn to tense up. Just what did they reveal under the influence? She recalls now that they had a cover story about meeting at the club - the IT department of Queen Consolidated should never have come into it.

“Well,” Oliver says, “I just needed to see her. And I was never any good at excuses.”

“I was telling H about it last night,” Matthew laughs, “she just can't wait to meet you both.”

“And we can't wait to meet her,” Oliver says.

Matthew grins.

“I have to say, Ollie,” he says, “I had my doubts. when I met you guys, but yesterday, watching you together, you’re so obviously meant to be. And when you pulled out those rings! I thought every woman in the room would swoon.”

“Oliver Queen off the market,” Oliver says wryly.

“More the big romantic gesture of it all,” Matthew chides him. “Don't be so cynical.”

“He’s a cynic,” Felicity says, sending a mock glare Oliver’s way.

“A big romantic cynic,” Matthew says, “a big speech making romantic cynic.”

“Speeches?”

“You don't remember?” Matthew gapes, “here, I recorded some of it on my cell.”

He pulls out an iPhone and cues up some footage.

A video starts playing on the screen. Felicity sees herself, in the dress she remembers wearing yesterday, not the dress she wore this morning, talking happily with people she doesn't know in some kind of outdoor bar. She looks happy, maybe a little giddy but not like she's drugged out of her mind. She's drinking champagne and she keeps looking around as if she's missing someone.

“Felicity!” Oliver’s voice comes out of the speakers. Even through the iPhone she can tell he's on a microphone.

The Felicity on screen turns and smiles. The camera turns and there Oliver is, grinning wider than she has ever seem him smile before. He's standing by the DJ booth and talking into a microphone.

“I know you don't believe me,” he says, and again he doesn't seem drugged, just a little drunk, “but I wasn't lying. I love you and I want you and I can't believe it's taken me this long to see it!”

The phone camera shifts back to Felicity and she standing there shocked, one hand over her mouth. Around her the entire crowd watches and smiles.

“You're remarkable Felicity Smoak,” Oliver in the video says, “you help me in every part of my life. There are so many things I couldn't do without you.” The crowd in the video lets out an “Aw” but Oliver is still talking. “I'm trying to save it all, to make things better, but the truth is you saved me and I see that now and I don't want to go back to the way things were before. I want this, I want you.”

On screen Oliver steps into shot, obviously having walked the length of the party with the microphone. 

“I love you Felicity.” He says, dropping to one knee. “Marry me.”

On screen Felicity has tears running down her face but she nods and then Oliver is standing up and pulling her into a kiss. The camera wavers, then the picture freezes.

Felicity looks up from the phone to see Oliver staring at her intensely. 

“Pretty good, eh?” Matthew says and Felicity suddenly remembers where they are. She turns and smiles at him.

“Yeah,” she says, “any girl would say ’yes’ to that.” She hands him back his phone and she shouldn't ask, she shouldn't, but she's going to. “Do you think you could send that to me?”

“Sure,” Matthew says and presses a few buttons on her phone.

He doesn’t have to ask for her number and 30 seconds later her phone chimes.

Oliver clears his throat, resettling himself in his seat.

Felicity turns to look at him almost instinctively but he’s not looking at her. And he’s not touching her. For the first time since they sat down both his hands are on the table in front of him, grasping each other tightly. She wants to reach for him, comfort him, but she doesn’t have the right.

Not today at least.

Yesterday is a whole different story. Apparently.

“Where is H?” Matthew wonders aloud, apparently ignorant of Oliver's tension.

“Here I am sweetie,” comes a voice and Felicity looks up to see a face from her nightmares standing over their table smiling sweetly.

Helena.

Otherwise known as Oliver’s psycho ex-girlfriend.


	6. Distraction

Oliver stares across the table at Helena Bertinelli kissing a friend who until 30 minutes ago he could have sworn was only an acquaintance but now he feels remarkably protective of. Matthew suddenly seems like Tommy without the psychotic father, and Oliver finds he can't bare the thought of Helena hurting yet another Tommy. 

He feels his hands tighten into fists and then suddenly Felicity is there, slipping her fingers into his and speaking with a joviality he can tell is forced.

“How lovely to meet you H!”

“You too,” Helena says, with the exact same tone of fake friendliness. “Felicity, right?”

“Yes,” Felicity says, “and this is my husband, Oliver.”

Helena pauses - obviously she must have known through Matthew but there's something in her reaction that makes his blood run cold. Thankfully Matthew doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy teasing Felicity about how she’ll never get tired of introducing Oliver like that.

“Not yet at least,” Felicity says.

“I’m Helen,” Helena says, holding out a hand to Oliver. He makes himself take it, plastering the smile he wears at the club on his face.

“Nice to meet you.”

The temptation to use her hand to pull her in close enough for a strike to the back of the neck is very strong.

But he resists.

Helena is here. And she is entirely unsurprised to find him here. 

Suddenly the lost events of yesterday make so much more sense.

“H was hoping to meet us last night,” Matthew says, “but she couldn't make it. I'm really happy you guys got a chance to meet.”

“Me too,” Felicity says in a disturbingly cheerful way and Oliver turns and pulls her against him with an arm so he can breathe, “Too much,” into her ear.

She shoots him a look, then turns slightly, so his arm ends up looped around her waist, holding her back against his chest, rather than side by side.

“So Matty tells me you guys got married yesterday,” Helena says, looking straight at Oliver. “That seems fast.”

“Well,” Oliver says, “when you know, you know.”

“Awwww,” Matthew says and Felicity giggles. 

“We’re so happy,” Felicity says. And there’s a sharp edge in her voice but maybe only he can hear it because Matthew isn't reacting and Helena’s expression of pleasant indifference seems unshakable.

Helena did this. He knows it in the same way he knew Felicity and Diggle would never go to the Police. She did this.

It’s all about control. And the lack of it.

He leans in to Felicity, kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear:

“I need to talk to Helena alone.”

Her hand comes down on his knee and she squeezes twice. One for yes, two for no.

“I’m not kidding,” he says, turning his face into her neck. He brings his other hand up to turn her face towards his to hide his words, “She did this, she drugged us. I need to find out why.” 

Felicity is putting on a good show, sighing into his touch, reacting to his lips.

She’s a much better actress that she gives herself credit for. 

But he can’t help but wish it was real.

“Distract Matthew,” he orders, then turns her head and kisses her briefly on the lips.

“I know you two are newlyweds,” Matthew says, “but do you have to be so cute about it?”

Felicity disentangles herself from him, breathing deeply.

“If you had a wife like mine,” Oliver says to Matthew, but he’s really saying it to Helena and he notes a minute expression of annoyance cross her features. So her plan didn't go as she expected it after all. “Would you stop?”

He'd lay money on the fact that she expected him to lose his inhibitions and start shooting up the party, not propose to his... to Felicity.

Losing a whole different set of inhibitions.

Felicity shifts in the chair beside him.

“Matthew,” she says, “which hotel are you staying in?”

“Bellagio,” Matthew says, “have you been there?”

“I don't think so,” Felicity says. She pulls her tablet out of her bag and lays it on the table. “Is that the one with the canals?” She pulls up pictures on her tablet to show him.

Matthew leans in over the table to see.

“No,” he says, “that’s the Venetian. The Bellagio, may I?” He gesture at the tablet and Felicity nods. Matthew starts talking about the different strip hotels, bringing up pictures and leaning in what Oliver mentally classes as a little too close to Felicity to do so.

Still it’s as good a distraction as they’re going to get, so Oliver meets Helena’s eye and jerks his head towards the bar.

She nods and they slip out of their seats without attracting Matthew’s attention. Felicity must know because she squeezes his knee one more time as he pulls away and he knows it's a message to be careful.

At the bar he chooses a quiet spot then turns his back on Matthew and Felicity, and glares at Helena.

“This is not your city,” she says, as smug as a cat with cream. 

“You drugged me,” he replies, “you drugged us.”

“I remembered the Hood has a thing about Vertigo,” she says wryly, “I thought it might get your attention.”

“You have all of my attention,” Oliver says coldly. “I’m not sure this was your best plan.”

Helena huffs.

“I will admit,” she says, “I wasn’t expecting you to marry the geek, but as plans go this one is only slightly derailed. Oliver Queen and the Hood are always in the same city. Did you know you never seen the two of them side by side? People will talk.”

“I won’t be blackmailed,” he says.

“Won’t you?” She smiles sweetly, “how about threatened? If I’d known how much the little nerd meant to you I would have done so much more than leave her tied up on the floor.”

Oliver sets his jaw and reminds himself that attacking her here is not a solution.

“Whatever happened to the pretty cop girl? The one you would have shot me for? Or was it always because I went after blondie?”

“Helena-”

“Helen,” she corrects, “wouldn't want to let those secret identities out of the bag.”

“What do you want Helena?”

“What every girl wants - the bigger rock.”

He can't figure her out.

“Are you jealous?”

“Over you? No Oliver, there’s no jealousy here. I want the Logan diamond, on display in a special exhibition in the Wynn. And you’re going to get it for me.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“Says the man who stole $40 million from Adam Hunt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, mindful of the fact this woman turned on her own father and has already named him to the cops once. She could be wearing a wire. “I heard the Hood returned that money to its rightful owners. That’s what I heard.”

She gives him a smug little smile.

“Why do this?” He says, “why drug me? Us?”

“You’re so proud of your control,” Helena says, inspecting her fingernails with feline grace, “I thought it was time you saw what it was like for the rest of us.”

Oliver clenches his fists and resists the urge to strangle her.

“You still haven't given me any reason to help you.”

“What? Not even to protect sweet little wifey over there?”

“I can protect her,” he says, “and I already know your word means nothing.”

“Every moment of every day,” Helena sneers. “You can’t be there all the time.”

“It’s what husbands do,” he replies, then feels a shock at his own words. It’s what husbands do.

He doesn't want an annulment. He doesn’t know if he wants a marriage - yet - but he knows he doesn't want an annulment.

He knows he wants to protect her and it would be so much easier to do that as her husband; never having to come up with an excuse to be around her, to be seen with her, never having to pass her protection off to someone else.

If he was her husband, really her husband, he could go back to that table and take Felicity out of here. Take her far away from Helena and keep her safe, and warm and wrapped in cotton.

He has a sudden memory flash to this morning - Felicity dressed in only his shirt, wearing his ring, her hair loose around her shoulders.

Then he has a flash to last night, taking off his shirt and wrapping it around her naked shoulders. Bundling up the rest of their clothing - sticky and stained with... something - to hand it off to a hotel porter with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

Laying her down in the bed, the shirt falling open around her.

Licking ice cream off of her hip and moving lower.

“Be careful,” a voice sneers and Oliver blinks out of his memories to see Helena, close and vicious, “you only just became a husband. You don't want to be a widower too soon.”

Oliver starts and is about to hit back when Matthew steps up.

“Hey,” he says, “no making choices on the wine unless Fiz and I can weigh in. I know for a fact your wife has a better palate than you do, Ollie.”

Matthew is pleasant, teasing and charming and utterly ignorant of the undercurrents playing between them.

“You’re right,” Oliver says, pulling up his playboy persona to hide his anger at Helena. He doubts she’s convinced but he’s not doing it for her anyway. “I’d better get back to my wife.”

He leaves Helena and Matthew at the bar, hears Helena say sweetly that just wanted to know what was in the cellar and not on the official wine list. Matthew teases her about never being satisfied.

Felicity is still seated at the table, looking at her phone.

As he gets closer he can see she’s playing the video of his proposal, the volume turned down so low as to be almost inaudible.

He can't see the expression on her face but he can see his own smile on the screen of her smartphone.

He looks so happy. And everything he said in the footage are the kind of things he dreamed about saying to Laurel on the island.

But now Laurel is out of his life and Felicity is here instead.

Wonderful, remarkable Felicity.

Her attentions is fixed on the phone but in his head he can see her laughing and wincing as the tattoo needle draws a line across her skin.

The same lines he has on his skin.

He’d known what the design meant the instant he saw it but lost in his hangover he had dismissed it entirely.

He can see now that he meant it absolutely.

Partnership. Love. Unity.

Shado had sketched the symbol for him once, explained it as one of the secrets passed down by her order. At the time he’d mostly liked it because there was something in the design that looked like an arrow head and target. 

Now he has it inked into his skin.

And hers.

Helena and Matthew are approaching - Helena doing a passable job of pretending to be a real person with real feelings - and Oliver realises that he can’t just take Felicity and run.

He owes Matthew enough to try and get Helena out of his life.

But he knows he wants to take Felicity and run and he can’t help himself - he has to do something.

So he slips back into the chair beside her, sliding his body over to press against hers.

She looks up at him sheepishly and turns off the phone.

She mouths “Sorry,” and he can’t help it.

His hands come up, tilting her chin towards his and he kisses her just like he’s wanted to do all morning. Not for the cover and not as an apology, but because she’s amazing and she’s here and he might not get another chance. And she might not know it yet but his feelings for her are written in both his skin and hers.

And they’re real.


	7. Wine

Oliver is kissing her.

His hands are in her hair. His lips are on hers. He's pressed up against her, so close and intimate.

She’s still holding her phone. She was watching the video of the proposal, watching his smiles and her tears, trying to figure out how they got to here from there.

And then he sat down, right beside her and she felt guilty for watching the footage and she tried to apologise and -

He kissed her.

He’s still kissing her.

Something must have happened at the bar.

Something he has to cover for. She waits for him to pull back, drop his mouth to her ear to whisper instructions, but he doesn’t.

He just kisses her.

One of his hands is in her hair, cradling her head. His other hand cups her face, she can feel his thumb tracing the line of her cheek bone. 

Her eyes are closed and just for a second - just for a second - she lets herself relax and enjoy this. Pretend that it’s just like it was in the picture, on the video, pretend that it’s real.

Matthew clears his throat and Felicity feels several drops of water land on her skin. As if she's just walked through rain.

Her eyes pop open as Oliver releases her. 

He turns his head and glares at Matthew who is flicking water at them from his glass.

“How the hell did you two ever keep your hands off of each other for months?”

Oliver looks back to Felicity.

“I have no idea,” he says and the tone of his voice makes her stomach flip over.

Oliver wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her against him, so they’re a united front against the cheerfulness of Matthew and the danger of Helena.

Her hand falls down on his knee and she tells herself it’s because she wants to be able to signal him yes or no and not because it feels like a natural place for her hand to be.

There is no natural place for her hand to be here. And while she has no idea what that kiss was for, she’s sure there was a reason. A practical, logical reason.

“Felicity!”

She jumps and realised she was spaced out.

“Look at what you’ve done to the poor girl, Ollie,” Matthew says, “you’ve befuddled her.”

Felicity blushes.

Helena takes a sip of her water and smiles a smile that just manages to not be a sneer.

“I asked you what we should drink, Fiz,” Matthew says, “twice.”

“Oh,” she says and risks a glance at Oliver. He’s looking at her fondly, which is nothing if not confusing.

Felicity looks back to Matthew.

“Wine,” she says.

Matthew laughs and Oliver joins him. 

“Do we have a list?” She says, knowing her cheeks are still red.

Matthew hands over the leather bound wine list and Felicity pages through it.

She's always been a wine fan and Oliver apparently knew that from the start, buying her assistance with hard to find vintages. But she’s never had the budget to taste like she’d like to.

Oliver squeezes her shoulder.

“Choose anything you want,” he says, “but you should know, a place like this might have bottles that aren't even listed.”

His eyes sparkle and she wonders just what it is he’s trying to tell her. 

“Should I talk to the sommelier?” She asks, genuinely perplexed.

“Maybe I can get them to let us in the cellar,” he says, “choose it ourselves.”

“No,” Matthew laughs, “if we lose you two to a dark cellar I don't know when we’ll see you again and the whole point of this lunch - aside from introducing you to H - is to buy your presence at tonight’s launch.”

“Oh?” Oliver says.

“My father’s company is sponsoring the rare jewel exhibition at the Wynn,” Matthew says, “it opens tonight with a charity auction.”

Felicity feels Oliver tense beside her and looks up from her perusal of the wine list. 

“Charity auction?”

“Another fuzzy spot?” Matthew smiles.

Oliver makes a face.

“I could tell you anything right now, couldn’t I?” Matthew teases, “be happy I’m too good of a friend for that.”

“I thought you two hadn’t seen each other since college,” Felicity says.

“Ah but the bonding we three did yesterday,” Matthew smiles, “it was just like old times, except it was you, me and Fiz instead of Tommy Merlyn.”

Oliver smiles tightly.

“So, this charity auction?” He asks.

“Yes, hosted by yours truly,” Matthew says, “I need you there to drive up some bids for me. All money raised will go to some blood diamond charity. Stop kids mining for bling or something. I don't know. It's a good cause even if I can't remember its name.”

“Sounds it,” Oliver says. “So, do I get to bid on the Logan diamond?”

“That one’s not for sale, display only.”

“Dammit,” Oliver says, snapping his fingers dramatically, he looks at Felicity and winks, “I would have loved to see you wearing it.”

“Can you wear the Logan diamond?” Felicity asks, “I thought it was the size of an egg. Bit big for a ring.”

“It’s not for wearing,” Helena says, and Felicity jumps - she’d almost forgotten she was there.

“No?” Felicity asks, keeping her tone neutral.

“No,” Helena confirms. “It’s a trophy. A way of saying who’s top, who can afford one of the biggest stones in the world. Who has the biggest stones in the world.”

“And that’s Matthew,” Felicity says, “or his Dad at least.” 

“Something like that,” Matthew says. “So, can I count on your support?”

“Of course,” Oliver says, and Felicity notes the smug smile on Helena’s face. Something has happened here that she’s not privy to. She trusts Oliver will fill her in but still, she doesn’t like that look.

“Glad to hear it,” Helena says, holding Oliver’s gaze.

Oliver turns to Matthew.

“Matt,” he says, “where were we last night? I seem to be down a credit card and I wonder if I left it behind a bar somewhere.”

“Oh my god,” Matthew says, “you seriously don't remember? We hit the early session at Krystall, but, yeah, of course, you were gone by the time he showed up.”

“He? Who?”

“That guy with the bow, the Robin Hood guy. He must have followed you from Starling.”

“The Hood?” Felicity asks, trying to sound as perplexed as she can.

“The Hood,” Matthew confirms, “wow, what a name. Yeah he crashed the party at Krystall last night, put an arrow in the DJ.”

“Was he okay?” Felicity asks.

“She was fine,” Matthew confirms. “Flesh wound. And not in the Monty Python sense.”

“Guess he’s not as good of a shot as he thinks,” Oliver says, staring fixedly at Helena.

Felicity follows his gaze. But Helena uses a cross bow - surely no one could mistake her for Oliver?

Helena smiles in a very satisfied way.

“Well anyway,” Matthew says, “the bar closed early. Lots of cards are probably still behind it.”

“But if we weren't there when the Hood arrived,” Felicity says, “where were we?”

“Well,” Matthew says, scratching his head in embarrassment, “you’d kinda bugged out by then. Newly married and all. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did really.”

Oliver leans in and nuzzles the skin under her ear. She laughs and listens hard for whatever it is he wants to tell her, but yet again he says nothing. 

She can't figure it out.

“So what do you want to drink?” Matthew asks.

Felicity looks to Oliver, wary of being drugged again.

“Choose what you want,” Oliver says, “but I want to see them open it at the table. I won’t accept some bottle they’d had behind the bar for months. I want to see it sealed.”

Oliver turns as he’s speaking to look at Helena, and Felicity can tell that he’s aiming all his words at her.

Matthew gives him an odd look, but doesn't say anything. 

Helena leans in close to Matthew and kisses him on the cheek.

Felicity worries about how happy that makes Matthew look.

“Choose a bottle already,” Helena says, “I'm thirsty.”

“What she said,” Matthew adds.

Felicity meets Oliver’s eyes and points out a red.

“But it needs to be decanted,” she says, “I'd feel better if you made sure it was done properly.”

Oliver quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Anything you want,” he says, and calls the sommelier over. 

The sommelier is, unsurprisingly, not thrilled about having Oliver watch the decanting but it’s amazing what a $100 bill can do.

Oliver follows the man to the bar while Felicity watches Helena and Matthew. Matthew seems amused but unconcerned - he is obviously used to the eccentricities of the wealthy. Helena’s expression is stony, though she swiftly moves to plaster on a happy smile when Matthew turns to her.

“Hoping for a repeat of yesterday,” Felicity asks, as sweetly as she can.

“What do you mean?” Matthew replies.

“Yesterday was such a great day,” she says, having prepared an answer, “we all live for days like that.”

“I'm sure it was very special for you,” Helena sneers, and even Matthew notices it this time, turning to her with a furrowed brow.

“It was,” Felicity says, refusing to let herself be intimidated - Helena is unarmed (this time) and Oliver is right there. 

Right here.

Oliver slips back into his seat and puts his arm back around Felicity.

“Wine’s coming,” he says, “and fresh glasses, just to be sure.”

Matthew nods in acknowledgement but most of his attention is on Helena, leaning in close to ask if she's feeling alright. 

Felicity exchanges a look with Oliver, feeling somewhat satisfied.

They won’t be dosed again, they know who did it and Oliver has her measure - he’s already taken her down once - so right now the only thing left to deal with is them.

“What do you think about steak tartare?” Oliver says, and she looks at him, waiting for the coded message but nothing comes. 

“I've never had it,” she says.

“It’ll go great with the wine,” he says.

She's not quite sure what is happening here but she has faith in Oliver. She trusts him.

So she nods and agrees, and once again finds herself pretending that this is all real, that he really does have his arm around her because he wants to and not because it’s part of their cover.

She relaxes against him and he presses a kiss to her temple. She should be upset about this - he’s being far more affectionate than he ever has been to her before and under the circumstances that could almost be called cruel - but she can't help but enjoy the attention. 

“So you'll be there tonight?” Matthew asks.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Oliver says.

“It should be a night to remember,” Helena says, her eyes fixed on Oliver.

“I'm sure,” he replies and if Felicity really was his wife she might worry at that tone.

But she’s not his wife, she’s his partner - one of his partners - so she smiles and drinks her wine and thinks about the cyber revenge she’ll wreak upon Oliver’s psycho ex-girlfriend and how much fun that will be to do.


	8. The conversation

Helena goes to the bathroom halfway through lunch and never comes back. Matthew receives a text message saying she got called away and Oliver inwardly curses.

He had planned to keep an eye on her, make sure of where she was for the rest of the day, and now she's in the wind.

He has no idea why she would want the Logan diamond or why she would need his help to get it, but he's reached the point with Helena that the simple fact that she wants something is enough of a reason for him to try and stand in her way about it.

Matthew laughs and makes jokes about how there always is a better party but Oliver can see Felicity looks concerned. 

He lets Matthew pick up the check and Felicity carry the conversation about the charity auction and Matthew’s duties as host. Matthew, it seems, has become quite the adept public speaker in the years Oliver was learning how to string a bow and skin a rabbit. He’s something high up in PR in his father’s company and has become the unofficial face of Arnstein Industries - especially when it comes to charitable events.

As great as that all is for Matthew, Oliver just finds it worrying. Is Helena using Matthew for his access to Oliver? His access to the diamond? Some nefarious plan related to his father’s company? All of the above?

He wishes Diggle was here so they could make an excuse to leave and investigate, but in the end it’s Matthew who calls an end to lunch.

“So much to do before tonight,” he says, “and as much as I’d like to spend the afternoon drinking my way through the cellar here with you Fiz, I’m sure Oliver has his own plans.”

It’s as good a time as any to lean in and kiss Felicity’s cheek, so he does so, but he also takes the opportunity to whisper, “Tracker?” into her ear.

She palms the tiny chip from her bag and slips it to him - she really is very adept at sleight of hand, must be all that typing - and Oliver manages to slip it under Matthew’s jacket collar as part of their goodbye hug.

Felicity gets two cheek kisses this time, and she laughs at Matthew’s antics. Oliver pushes away the uncharitable thoughts that accompany Matthew’s gesture - there'll be time enough for that later - and smiles.

“So I'll see you tonight?” Matthew says.

“Of course,” Oliver smiles. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Oliver keeps his arm around Felicity as the three of them walk out of the restaurant. He could keep his arm there all day, but once Matthew is out of sight he drops the embrace.

Felicity already has her tablet out and is adding Matthew’s signal to her GPS tracking app.

“Why did you want to track him?” She asks.

“I'm worried about him.”

“Yeah, well,” Felicity says, “I can't say he’s got the best taste in women.”

Oliver snorts.

“If you're waiting for me to defend her,” he says, “you’ll be waiting a long time.”

Felicity doesn’t looks at him.

“John said,” she says in a very neutral tone, “that you got kind of intense about her. That she got under your skin.”

“She did,” Oliver admits. “But that was months ago.”

“Doesn't seem that long ago,” Felicity says.

“It does to me.”

He turns to look at her. Felicity is focused on her tablet, not looking at him. Oliver reaches out and tips her chin up, turning her face towards him with a finger. She lets him, and her eyes when they meet his are confused.

But hopeful.

“Oliver?”

“Felicity,” he says, and drops his mouth down to hers.

It's a sweet kiss. A short kiss. A very very public kiss.

He pulls back to see her face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. She blinks her eyes open and stares up at him with an expression of absolute shock.

“Oliver?” She says, “is someone watching us?”

“Someone's always watching,” he says, “but no, not in the way you mean.”

“So...?”

“I wanted to kiss you,” he says. “I wanted to kiss my wife.”

Felicity stares at him and then slowly her mouth turns up into a smile and her eyes twinkle.

“Seriously?” She asks, “you want to try this? You want to try this with me?”

“Yes,” he says, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into his embrace. “I want you.”

Felicity blushes, then bites her lip. She looks utterly adorable.

He leans down to press another kiss to her lips - this time longer, more passionate and full of promise.

Her arms come up to wrap around his neck and his hands press on her back, holding her against him.

This time, when he pulls back, her breathing has deepened and her pupils are blown.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says and she nods eagerly.

He walks them to the elevator with an arm around her shoulders. He aims for an unnoticeable and sedate pace, but both of them seem eager for privacy and before long it's an effort not to jog or run.

The queue for the elevators is long, but the suite is at least 30 floors up so there’s no point in taking the stairs. Instead Oliver finds himself pressed into a corner of the elevator car, Felciity pushed up against him by a group of tourists with no sense of personal space.

He worms his hand between their bodies to find her fingers. He wraps her hand inside his own and squeezes and she looks up at him with look of happy incredulity, as if she can't quite believe this is happening.

The tourists leave the car on a floor sometime in the twenties and the last 9 floors of the ride is just them, alone in the car. 

Despite the sudden arrival of space she doesn't step back, and he lays one hand on her hip and cups the back of her head with the other and they spend several wonderful minutes making out like carefree teenagers.

Her phone chimes, but they ignore it.

Then her tablet chimes. Twice.

Oliver has his hands on her waist and is about to turn and press her against the wall when elevator doors open.

“This is our stop,” she says with a giggle, and he sweeps her up in his arms, carrying her like the bride she is and practically runs down the corridor to their suite.

He fumbles with the keycard, until she has to take it from him and work the lock herself and then they’re inside the room and the door is closed and he’s laying her on the sofa and crawling over her to press her down into the cushions.

And her phone is chiming, again and again and again.

Felicity freezes underneath him. She looks up and he can see the worry in her eyes. The panic.

He lifts himself up and she scrambles out from under him, reaching for her bag.

“What is it?” He asks. 

“News alerts," she says, staring at the dual screens of the tablet and smartphone. “I’m getting dozens and dozens of news alerts.”

He sits back on the sofa watching as she types on the touch screens.

Her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open and he just knows there’s no way this is good news.

“Oh God, Oliver,” she says, sounding completely freaked out. “They know.”

“About?” He asks, striving for calm.

“They know about us, about the wedding. The press does. We’re on the front page of every single gossip site you can imagine.”

Oliver feels his heart sink. The press. He and Felicity didn’t even get an hour to explore their newly acknowledged feelings for once another before the press knew.

Well, yes, technically it has been just over 18 hours since the ceremony but still. Most of those he can’t remember.

It hardly seems fair.

But it's not the end of the world.

“It'll blow over,” he sighs, feeling the usual world weariness of having to deal with journalists settle back in his bones. “It’ll be big news for a week, then someone else will do something stupid and they’ll leave us alone.”

Felicity stares at him.

“Did we do something stupid?” 

“No,” he says, “I mean, yes, because this isn’t exactly how people normally do these things, but no, because it turns out that I've wanted this for a long time.”

“I've wanted this for a long time too,” she says, but she doesn’t sound happy, she sounds bereft. “But I don't think you know how this is going to play for me.”

She lays the tablet down on the coffee table. He can still hear the soft chime it lets out every time it receives an email.

Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime.

“It’s just the tabloids,” he says, “they get bored eventually.”

“And in the meantime?” She asks, “my job, my life. Your life. How do we live those?”

“We don’t,” he admits, “we hide. Eventually they will go away.”

“I'm not sure if I can live like that,” she says and she sounds so sad.

“Hey,” he says, cupping her cheek, “it’s going to be fine.”

He leans in for a kiss and her phone suddenly rings, the sound loud and angry.

“Can you not turn that off?” He says, his lips millimetres from hers.

“That's the emergency tone,” Felicity says, “it must be John.”

“He can wait,” Oliver says but she’s already slipped out of his reach to answer the phone.

“John?” She says, “hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Oliver,” Diggle says through the phone. “We have a problem.”


	9. The plan

“Felicity,” Diggle says over the phone, “can you get the front page of the Post up? The Starling City Post?”

“Is this about the wedding?” Oliver says, “because we already know that’s broken.”

“No,” Diggle says and his voice sounds cold enough that Felicity is filled with dread.

Her fingers fly over the screen of her tablet and the newspaper website appears in seconds.

’IS OLIVER QUEEN THE HOOD?’ screams the headline, and as if that wasn’t bad enough the picture underneath is a composite of two shots; a blurry out-of-focus picture of the Hood, and a head and shoulders candid of Oliver.

Felicity looks up and meets his eye.

“Shit,” she breathes.

“I've been accused before,” Oliver says in a very calm voice. “Lance couldn't make it stick.”

“It’s not about Lance anymore,” Diggle says, “and it’s not about charges. They’re very careful to avoid an out-and-out statement, but the implication is there. And it’s damaging.”

“So?” Oliver says, “you’re about to alibi me tonight.”

“Read the article,” Diggle replies, “they suggest you’re working with partners. They name Felicity-”

She can't help but let out a little “Eep!” of surprise at that.

“-and there's a not-so-obscure reference to me.”

“Why do I get named?” She objects, “and you get the reference?”

“Because I've never been questioned by the police about my links to the vigilante?” Diggle says in his don’t be an idiot tone.

“Oh,” she says, “that.”

Felicity opens the article and starts to skim through. Diggle’s right. It’s damaging. And it’s in depth. There’s a list of known and suspected deaths caused by the Hood alongside a scathing editorial that suggests the Hood happily kills the security guard worker bees and thug drones and leaves their financial masters with only flesh wounds and intimidation. There are lots of references to times when Oliver Queen and the vigilante have been in close proximity to each other, and how the Hood was seen driving through the Glades on the night of the earthquake and didn’t stop to help. There’s an analysis of the height, weight and body type of the Hood from various photographs along with a comparison to Oliver. 

Diggle isn’t mentioned by name but there are lots of references to Oliver’s loyal bodyguard. 

And then there's the paragraph on her. They know about the time Detective Lance questioned her. They know she works at Queen Consolidated and there’s a picture from that event where she almost got her head blown off of her in Oliver’s company, Diggle half-blurred in the background.

It’s bad.

It’s really really bad.

About the only thing they don't know is that she just married him. She wonders if this will make them look more or less like the truth.

And once they see the gossip sites they’re bound to update the story anyway

All at once she starts to laugh.

Oliver looks at her strangely.

“Felicity?” Diggle asks over the phone, “are you alright?”

She laughs even harder.

“It’s just too much,” she says between giggles, “how do we even start to deal with this?”

Oliver steps in close and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll deal with it,” he says. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don't think so,” she shakes her head, “everything has changed now.”

“Everything had already changed,” Oliver says. “Diggle?”

“Yeah?”

“Diggle,” Oliver repeats, “I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Felicity.”

Felicity starts out of her manic laughter and stares up at him.

“For real?” Diggle says but she can hear how delighted he sounds.

“Yes,” Oliver confirms, “I’ve been thinking, we’ve been thinking, and we don't want an annulment. We’re going to try this.”

“Seriously man,” Diggle says, “that’s great. I could hear it in your voice yesterday and I kinda hoped that it wasn't just the booze and pills for you two.”

“Well you know us,” Felicity says, weakly. “We’re party animals.”

“I'm really very happy for you both,” Diggle says, “but what about the rest of it?”

“It’s just noise,” Oliver says, “you either drown it out or silence it.”

“This is a hell of a lot of noise, man.”

“Scarily accurate noise as well,” Felicity points out, “and who did we just have lunch with who knows all of our identities and has a grudge?”

“This doesn't quite seem like Helena’s style.”

“Wait, you had lunch with Helena?” 

“Not intentionally,” Oliver says, “she was just... there.”

“Vegas is different the way you do it, hmm?”

“I don't know,” Felicity says, “we definitely hit some of the tropes with the whole marriage under the influence thing.”

“Helena wants the Logan diamond,” Oliver explains, “it’s on display at a charity auction that’s happening tonight. She suggested that her plan was to blackmail me into helping her steal it so outing me seems somewhat uncharacteristic.”

“You said ’no’, though, right?” Felicity checks.

“Of course.”

“Then it’s totally characteristic,” Felicity says, “it’s scorched earth. If she doesn’t get to play with you no one does.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow at her and Felicity mentally replays her words.

“Okay, no,” she says, “but you know what I meant. If the Hood won’t help, he’ll hinder, and she doesn't want you getting in the way. So she outs you so you can’t Hood up and stop her. Plus she still has that bow, bought with your money and used to commit assault. She thinks she has you on several levels.”

“I agree with Felicity,” Diggle says, “there’s too much detail here for it to be anyone but your psycho ex.”

“I'll agree it’s a hell of a coincidence,” Oliver says and she throws up her hands in frustration. 

He eyes her.

“Okay,” he admits, “it’s probably Helena. But we can't risk focussing all of our attention on her and missing someone who may be hiding in the shadows. She wasn’t at lunch yesterday and we still were drugged.”

“Matthew?” Felicity asks, “could he have done it?”

“He could have,” Oliver acknowledges, “but Helena pretty much told me it was her doing. But then she may have a partner we don't know about.”

“I say again,” Felicity says, “and I like the guy so this is not at attack, but, Matthew? She is his girlfriend.”

“He’s innocent in this,” Oliver says.

“Why are you so sure?”

Oliver’s eyes meet hers and she can see how conflicted he is.

“I just am,” he says.

“Okay,” Felicity sighs, “what's our move? We’ve got a charity auction to attend, a diamond heist to foil (I mean, I’m assuming you want to foil it, I don’t know), a thousand gossip sites foaming at the bit for photos of newly-married scandalous us and a major newspaper that’s somehow printed the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. That’s a lot for one day.”

Diggle chuckles.

“You two don't do things by halves, do you?”

“You’re not one to talk,” she retorts.

“I think you’ve outclassed me in the drama stakes,” Diggle says, sounding very amused. “Married in Vegas beats in love with sister-in-law.”

“Can we focus, please?” Oliver asks, but his tone is far from serious.

“Do you have a plan?” Diggle asks.

“I have the beginnings of one,” Oliver says, and grins.

“Oh, why does that smile worry me,” Felicity says.

“He’s smiling?”

“Yes,” she answers Diggle. “It’s very concerning.”

“You two need to have some faith,” Oliver says, sounding completely unrepentant.

“Oh yeah, that’s not worrying at all,” Diggle says.

* * *

The first thing to do is apparently dress shopping.

“I have dresses,” she says to Oliver.

“Not for this,” he says and calls for a car. 

* * *

And shoe shopping.

“Do you have a fetish I don't know about?” Felicity asks as Oliver points out half a dozen different pairs of incredibly high heels she should try on.

“Benefits of having a sister,” he says, which she notes totally does not answer her question.

She tries the shoes on anyway, because how often is she going to get to wear shoes like this really?

* * *

They pick up the first paparazzi photographers outside Prada and Felicity winces away from flashbulbs while Oliver tucks an arm around her and smiles.

“Relax,” he says without moving his lips.

“I can't see,” she complains, images of flash bulbs burned onto her retinas. 

“Smile,” he says, “don't try to see. I’ve got you.”

She tries, she really does, but she can't help the suspicion that she looks awkward and gawky beside him.

“Ollie!” The photographer calls, “how about a kiss?”

Oliver grins and waggles a finger at him.

“You’re scaring my wife,” he chides. 

“She’ll have to get used to it,” another photographer yells, and Oliver turns on him with an expression closer to the Hood than the Playboy and Felicity suddenly sees how bad this could go considering the other set of headlines they’re dealing with, and so she reaches up and pulls his face down to hers for a kiss.

The photographers cheer and the camera flashes increase in intensity.

Oliver’s arms go around her, breaking the kiss and pulling her into a hug, his back to the photographers and then the security guards from the mall arrive and start moving the paparazzi along.

“Did you see today’s headlines?” One yells as a particularly burly guard tries to crowd him back.

“I've been too busy,” Oliver says and then sweeps Felicity up in his arms in a bridal carry for another kiss.

Felicity goes with it. She’s got no problem kissing Oliver, even if this is mostly for show.

Oliver laughs and spins and the departing photographers take pictures over, around and above the corralling arms of the security guards. 

A small crowd has formed. Felicity’s not sure if they’re entirely sure who she and Oliver are but the camera phones are out and recording and this is all part of Oliver’s so-called-plan so she buries her face in his chest and mentally places a bet about the first pics of this being up on a gossip site within 30 minutes. 

It only takes 17.

* * *

There’s a reporter waiting for them outside the suite when they get back to the Mirage. A curvy women with a dark pixie hair cut and very red lipstick dressed in jeans and a tailored shirt. 

“Juliette,” Oliver greets her, “long time no see.”

“Oliver,” she says, smiling, “I thought your days in my column were over and done.”

“You know me,” he says, charm turned up to eleven.

“Apparently not,” Juliette says, looking past Oliver to Felicity. She offers a hand. “Juliette Parker.”

Felicity takes her hand before she realises that maybe she shouldn’t.

“Felicity Smoak.”

“You’re keeping the name?” Juliette raises her eyebrows.

“I -” Felicity looks to Oliver.

“Of course she is,” Oliver says, “taking your husband’s name is such an antiquated custom.”

“You two haven’t had that talk yet have you?” Juliette says shrewdly.

“No comment,” Oliver says. “Now, what do I have to give you to leave and not tell all your friends where I am?”

“Thirty minutes,” Juliette says.

“Five.”

“Twenty.”

“Five.”

“Oliver,” Juliette says, “be reasonable.”

“Juliette,” Oliver replies, “drop dead.”

“Is that anyway to talk to your favorite tabloid reporter?”

“I never said you were my favorite.”

“That's not how I remember it,” Juliette says and looks up at him through her eyelashes and suddenly Felicity knows.

“You two totally had a thing!”

Juliette grins and Oliver turns concerned eyes on Felicity.

“It was a long time ago,” he says, sounding apologetic.

“Oh I don't care,” she says, and she doesn’t. She’s got more than enough to deal with with present-day Oliver, never mind his womanising past-self. And the past is the past is the past. “I just wonder how it’s ethical to report on someone you’ve slept with.”

Juliette grins even wider.

“I like her Ollie,” she says, “where’d you find her?”

“None of your business,” he says.

“Technically it is,” she says, “since I get paid for asking.”

Oliver glowers at her but Juliette remains unaffected. Felicity would be impressed but she’s faced him down with that look while armed and hooded and that beats Angry!Playboy! any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

“Five minutes,” Oliver says, “and it’s recorded. By both you and me.”

“Five minutes,” Juliette agrees.

“I'm going to regret this,” Oliver says as Felicity steps in front of him to open the suite door. 

“Not as much as last time,” Juliette quips.

Oliver sighs and turns to follow Felicity into the room. She catches his eye as he does and sees the spark of merriment he shows her while his back is turned on Juliette.

Apparently everything is going to plan. 


	10. The interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long....

Felicity puts her handbag down on a side table and tries not to look nervous. Journalists can smell nervousness.

Juliette wanders around the room, ostensibly looking at things idly but obviously mentally cataloging everything. She leans in close to a particular flower arrangement.

“That was here when we got here,” Felicity says, then wishes she hadn’t because Juliette’s sharp eyes have locked onto her. “I mean,” she tries to correct, “it's just part of the decor, we didn't specifically request lilies or something. Is that something people do? Request lilies? I mean they’re nice but I always associate them with funerals,” oh God, she’s babbling, “and I’m going to stop talking now.”

Juliette smiles at her and Felicity has a sudden flash of sharks and blood in the water.

Journalists and babbling IT girls should not be left alone.

“So you’re Felicity Smoak,” Juliette says, “star of the Queen Consolidated IT department.”

“I'm not sure I’d say star...”

“Starling City girl, born and bred.”

“Yes...”

“And this is your first trip to Las Vegas.”

“It’s my first trip anywhere really,” she says, “they don't let me out much.”

“They?”

“Oh, no! That was a joke!” Felicity steps towards Juliette, hands out, placating and panicked. “They let me out. They don’t exist. There is no they! Why am I talking about a they?”

Oliver’s hand comes down on her shoulder and she looks up at him, incredibly grateful.

“Juliette,” he says in a warning tone, “we’re not recoding anything yet.”

“That was small talk Ollie,” Juliette says with a grin. “Socialising. You remember the concept.”

“Vaguely,” Oliver says, “but it was also off the record.”

“Of course,” she says with a grin but it’s just slightly too toothy and shark-like and Felicity doesn't feel reassured.

At all.

“Shall we sit?” Oliver says, gesturing toward a pair of sofas.

“Of course.”

Oliver gestures for Juliette to precede him then takes advantage of her back being turned to squeeze Felicity’s hand.

She tries to smile at him but her nerves are frazzled and she suspects it looks more like a grimace. He wraps an arm around her anyway and walks her over to the sofas.

Juliette lays a digital recorder down on the coffee table between them.

“So, Ollie,” she says, “you’ve been stranded on a desert island, married in Vegas and now you’re shooting it up as a Robin Hood knockoff. Could your life be any stranger?”

“Two out of three ain't bad,” Oliver grins. He drops a hand on Felicity’s knee and smiles at her. “But I'm not the Hood.”

“Really?” Juliette says, “The Post made a pretty strong case that you are.”

“The Post once said I was dating Angelina Jolie,” Oliver points out, “they’ve gotten it wrong before.”

“And they’re wrong now?”

“Absolutely.”

Felicity watches Oliver lie and wonders where this smooth confidence was back when he was spinning stories about rich kid treasure hunts and energy drinks. He’s really a much better liar than she's given him credit for.

“The Post specifically named you, Felicity, as a known Hood associate,” Juliette says, turning her gaze on Felicity. “What do you have to say to that?”

“Uh,” Felicity says, “they’re wrong. I don't work with the Hood.”

“Then why were you questioned by the police?”

“They thought,” Felicity says, swallowing down her nerves, “that I had hacked into the Merlyn Global mainframe.”

“And did you?”

“I decline to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me,” Felicity says.

“This isn't court,” Juliette raises an eyebrow, “there’s no fifth amendment here.”

“Off the record,” Oliver leans in to say, “Felicity was doing me a favor. Queen Consolidated wanted some advanced intel on Merlyn’s upcoming product releases. I wanted to impress my mother. Felicity helped me out, so I bought her a drink to say thank you. And here we are.”

“Romance blooms over industrial espionage,” Juliette says skeptically, “you really expect me to buy that?”

“It’s the truth,” Oliver shrugs, “but if you could avoid publishing the part where I committed a crime to get a date I’d appreciate it.”

“How much?”

“I did say ’off the record’,” Oliver points out, “that's on the tape, you can’t use it.”

“Ollie, Ollie, Ollie,” Juliette says, “if I can find another source it’s fair game. Convince me not to.”

Oliver holds up his left hand and points at the ring.

“Married now,” he says, “those old methods of yours won’t work.”

“Me too,” Juliette says, lifting a long necklace out of her shirt to reveal a silver wedding and engagement set.

“Congratulations,” Oliver said, “which poor deluded fool did you walk down an aisle with?”

“None of your business,” Juliette says with a grin.

“And yet here you are quizzing me?”

“You’re Starling City’s favorite screw-up,” Juliette points out, “you’re everyone’s business.”

“Fine,” Oliver sighs, “thirty minutes.”

“Up your offer.”

“An hour.”

“For keeping you out of jail?”

“A little hacking between friends won’t send me to jail.”

“No, but shooting people full of arrows might.”

“You looking to move away from the gossip rags, Juli? You looking for your break into the mainstream? Because these questions make you sound like you’re trying to be the next Lois Lane...”

Juliette narrows her eyes at him.

“I hear you’re on the guest list for tonight's auction,” she says and Felicity has to clamp down on her instinct to grin. This is working so well.

“The Arnstein thing?” Oliver says, “we might be.”

“Matty Arnstein blacklisted me,” Juliette says, “I want in and I want full access to you and your lovely wife there for the whole shebang.”

“What did you do to Matty?”

“Broke the story about his gambling addiction,” Juliette says in an almost bored tone, “it's no surprise he chose to hold his mega auction in sin city. Though I am surprised they let him in the door. Casinos can be so touchy about things like unpaid bills.”

“I don't know anything about that,” Oliver says, “but I can get you through the door.”

“You always were good at opening doors,” she leers.

“No comment.”

“The whole evening,” Juliette insists.

Oliver looks at Felicity and makes a bit of a show of asking her permission with a raised eyebrow. 

She pauses, then nods. 

“The whole evening,” Oliver confirms to Juliette. “You’ll need a dress. It's a formal event.”

“I can get a dress.”

“Alright,” he nods, “be here at six.”

“Oh no,” she says, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Juliette,” Oliver says, “I’d really like to make love to my wife now.”

“Don't mind me,” Juliette says. “I’ll just stay here. You got a magazine I can read? Or cable?”

Oliver glares and Felicity blushes. 

“Fine.”

Oliver stands up and pulls Felicity with him.

“You are not serious,” she says.

“No,” Oliver replies, sending another glare in Juliette’s direction. “Much as I’d like to be.”

There's a knock at the door.

“That’ll be our shopping,” Oliver said. 

He leaves Felicity standing awkwardly by the sofa and walks for the door.

“So was it planned?”

Felicity jumps and turns to look at Juliette.

“The wedding, was it planned?”

Felicity twists the ring on her finger. 

“Not really. More of a spur of the moment thing.”

“Were you engaged?”

Felicity smiles awkwardly and tries to remember the rules for dealing with the press Oliver explained earlier. Keep your answers short. Stuck to the truth for the small things so you can lie about the big ones. Is this a small or big thing? She’s not sure.

“Not really,” she repeats, “he only asked me yesterday.”

“I saw the video,” Juliette nods. “Pretty epic.”

“You saw the video? The proposal video?”

“There’s a couple of versions doing the rounds on YouTube. Someone even auto-tuned it.”

“If you saw the video,” Felicity says slowly, trying not to think about one of the greatest romantic moments of her life being auto-tuned for the internet’s amusement, “why did you ask if we were engaged?”

“Wanted to see if you'd front it out,” Juliette shrugs, “try and rewrite history.”

“I don't do that.”

“But you do hack into secure systems and steal corporate secrets.”

“Allegedly,” Felicity points out, but her denial is lost in the sudden wave of shrieking coming from the suite’s door.

Both women turn to look in time to see Oliver be tackled by the teenage fury of his sister. She’s all movement and energy, hugging him and hitting him at the same time.

“I can't believe you got married in Vegas!” Thea shrieks. “And didn’t invite me!”

Oliver wraps his arms around her, preventing her from lashing out, then glances back at Felicity.

Felicity looks at Juliette who looks almost giddy at the appearance of the younger Queen sibling.

Oh dear.

Well, things had been going too well. She should have known the plan would go off the rails sooner or later.


	11. Sisters

Felicity sits on the sofa and stares at Roy.

He’s watching Oliver like a hawk while Oliver and Thea circle each other like the affectionately warring siblings they are.

Juliette is on the edge of her seat and grinning. All her Christmases have apparently come at once.

This is so not good.

“I can’t believe you didn't tell me!?!” Thea yells.

“It’s not that simple,” Oliver says in a falsely calm voice. He glances over at the sofas, his eyes moving from Felicity to Juliette and then finally landing on Roy. “I don't know everything about your love life.”

“You know that I have one!” Thea says, “you are aware that I date. I thought you were still hung up on Laurel! And now you’re married! What the fuck Ollie?”

“Thea!”

“Oh, like you never swear.”

“Not in front of the nice journalist,” Oliver says through what Felicity assumes are gritted teeth.

“You really think not swearing in front of her will make a difference?” Thea snaps, “because I'm pretty sure the ’Oliver Queen has a potty mouth’ meme has been on the Internet for years.”

Oliver pauses, stares.

“What?”

“Uh,” Thea says, “I forget. Island.” She throws up her hands in frustration. “I swear to God Ollie, me swearing is so the least of your problems right now.”

Oliver blinks at her and rubs at his head.

“Thea,” he says with a sigh, “can we start over? Felicity?” He holds out his hand without looking at her, as if he just expects her to appear. Like a good little wife.

And you know what, she’ll take this cue right now because journalist and secrets and diamond heist to foil, but later on this will be discussed. At length.

Felicity slips off the sofa and crosses the room to take his hand.

Oliver pulls her against him, squeezes her into his side.

“Thea,” he says, “I’d like you to meet Felicity. Felicity, Thea.”

Thea regards her and Felicity can see the wheels turning. Thea may be a teenager but she’s no fool.

“We sort of met before,” Felicity says. “I brought flowers to Walter.”

“Right,” Thea says, “that was you. And were you two together? Back then?”

“Yes,” Oliver says, at the exact same time as Felicity says, “No.”

She sees him wince out of the corner of her eye.

“Nothing had happened yet,” he clarifies, “yet.”

“Yet,” Thea says.

“We both knew it was coming,” Oliver says.

“Speak for yourself,” she teases, remembering how shocked she was when she woke up this morning, “I, for one, did not see this coming.”

“Really?” Oliver says, “you didn't see me coming for you?”

“Complete shock to me,” she says.

She’s aware they’re mugging for the cameras, or, in this case, the audio recorder, but there’s no denying there’s also truth to these words.

“How did you not see him coming?” Thea asks, but her tone is calm and curious. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

Felicity turns her attention from Oliver to Thea.

“I never really thought he’d be interested in me.”

Oliver wraps his arms around her from behind and kisses her cheek. Felicity feels the blood rise to her cheeks. Damn her blushes.

“You were wrong,” Oliver says right by her ear.

Felicity squeezes his hands where they lie on her stomach and doesn’t say anything. She’s not sure what she’d trust her voice to sound like right now.

Thea considers, then smiles.

“Okay,” she holds out a hand to Felicity. “Nice to meet you, Felicity. I’m Thea.”

Felicity takes Thea’s hand in both of hers. She finds she really wants Oliver’s sister to like her. She knows how important she is in his life and as an only child Felicity doesn't want to do anything to damage the relationship between them.

“Nice to meet you too. I’d wanted to meet you for a while. He talks about you a lot.”

“Yeah, well, he hasn't mentioned you once,” Thea says, sending a dark look in Oliver’s direction, “but that’s going to change. Now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes,” Thea says.

“Right now?” Oliver repeats, tilting his head in Juliette’s direction in an incredibly unsubtle gesture. “Really?”

“You don't get to hide behind the press today,” Thea says, “which reminds me. Today’s other big news story about my brother.”

“I am not the Hood,” Oliver sighs, “I'm not. I don't know where they got it from.”

“They got it from somewhere,” Thea says shrewdly and out of the corner of her eye Felicity sees Roy lean forward on the sofa.

“Thea,” Oliver says, “married in Vegas, that’s me. Hunting one percenters with a bow and arrow? Not me.”

“Of course it’s not,” Thea says, “because spending five years alone on a deserted island doesn't change anyone.”

“Thea,” Oliver sighs, sounding very put-upon.

“Oliver,” she replies in the exact same tone, then glances at Juliette. “And for the benefit of our friends in the press I’ll say this very clearly, I do not think you are the Hood. I do think you need to stop keeping quite so many secrets. if you never tell anyone anything can you blame them if they make stuff up.”

“I’ll try,” Oliver says, “I really will try.”

“That’s all I’m asking for,” Thea nods. “So, when’s the annulment?”

Oliver looks down at Felicity and smiles.

“There isn't going to be one,” he says.

“Really?” Thea raises an eyebrow, “Mom will be thrilled.”

“Thea,” Oliver chides her. “Ix-nay on the ournalist-jay.”

Both Thea and Felicity blink at him.

“That’s not how you use pig-Latin,” Felicity says, and Thea nods.

“Yeah big brother,” she taunts, “everyone knows that. What were you, stuck on an island for five years?”

Oliver smiles tightly.

“That’s never getting old is it?”

“Nope,” Thea says, she leans in and tugs Felicity away from Oliver. “If we're going to be sisters I need to know everything about you. Now.”

Felicity looks back over her shoulder at Oliver but Thea is already pulling her away.

He smiles and this time there’s a little more happiness to it.

“Welcome to the family, shoes off at the door, don't let her make you cocktails. They’re lethal.”

“She’s 18.”

“Queens grow up young,” he says, then looks from her to Juliette and winces, “what do I have to give you for that not to be quoted?”

Felicity turns to see Juliette grin.

“I'll let that one slide for old time’s sake,” she says, “but it’s the last freebie. You really need to up your game here Ollie, you used to be good at this.”

“Don't I know it,” Oliver sighs.

Thea pulls Felicity into a bedroom and shuts the door behind them.

Her last glimpse of Oliver is him rubbing his forehead and looking stressed.

She sympathises.

* * *

Thea wants to talk.

Of course Thea wants to talk.

The problem is that Felicity has no idea how much she can say. Because “I’ve been your brother’s vigilante sidekick with unacknowledged UST for nearly a year and then we woke up this morning married with no memory of it” doesn’t really seem like it will work here.

“So how did you guys meet?”

“He spilt a latte on his laptop,” Felicity says, remembering bullet holes and blatant lies. “He needed help to fix it.”

“You can do that?”

“I work in IT. At your company. QCIT.” Felicity shrugs.

“And did you? Fix it?”

“I got the data off it,” Felicity admits, “but the laptop was toast.” Which is what happens when a computer gets shot, she adds mentally. Then she curses at herself, because adding mental comments is a sure fire way for her to say something she doesn’t mean to.

“And then? Did he call? Did he ask you out? Send flowers?”

“No, er, he just kept dropping by my office asking for help.” Felicity shifts in her seat, remembering the cover story delivered to Juliette. "Once he even asked me to break into the Merlyn server so he could impress your Mom."

“OMG! That is so cute,” Thea says giddily.

Felicity blinks.

Thea, like her older brother, has very compelling eyes. She’s leaning in, entirely focused on Felicity and Felicity suddenly realises that she’s being played. Thea is acting the teen, bringing out the girl-talk and giggles, lulling her into a false sense of security and friendship.

Which is the same thing Oliver does; using people’s expectations of him to manipulate them for his own advantage.

Though admittedly he does it with less teen-speak.

Felicity has a sudden vision of Oliver saying “OMG!” and has to smother a laugh.

“What?” Thea says, her eyes narrowing.

Felicity smiles.

“I can see what you’re doing, you know?”

“And what am I doing?”

“Looking out for your brother,” Felicity says, “and it's impressive, really it is. You almost had me.”

Thea’s nose wrinkles.

“It was the ’OMG’ wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Felicity admits, “but up until then you had me.”

Thea sighs and flops back on the bed.

“You have to know how this looks,” she says, sounding tired and a lot older than her years. “He doesn't always make the best decisions.”

Felicity snorts.

“Good luck getting him to admit that,” she remarks.

“I know, right?”

“If it helps,” Felicity says slowly, “I'd never hurt him. I'm his friend first. I really do want him to be happy.”

Thea lifts her head to peer at Felicity.

“And now you’re in love with him?”

Felicity looks at her hands, twists this new ring on her finger. She’s been wearing it for less than 24 hours and she can't imagine how her hand would feel without it.

But is this love? Or just that UST raising its head? Is it really sensible that they don't just annul this mistake and maybe try dating instead?

She knows about unrequited love. Knows about how often these things don't work out. Knows that the seasons of television after the lead actors finally get together tend to be weaker than the preamble.

This is all so new and she doesn’t really know how to deal with it yet.

“I love Oliver,” she says, “I have for a while. I’d never hurt him.”

“I believe you,” Thea says, sitting up. “But things don't always work out like we want them to.”

“Yeah,” Felicity says.

A mournful silence falls between them and Felicity is sure that this is not making her look especially good to her new sister-in-law.

“I think my Dad would have liked you,” Thea says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Now my mother on the other hand,” Thea says, “she can be a tough nut to crack.”

Felicity thinks about all she knows about Moira Queen. Thinks about a book handwritten in invisible ink, a mystery warehouse, an earthquake device that destroyed entire city blocks.

“But then again,” Thea says in a deceptively neutral tone, “it’s very hard to be judgemental about your children’s life choices while you’re rotting in a jail cell for conspiracy to commit terrorism.”

Felicity hears the edge in Thea’s tone and sees the way her fingers clench into fists despite the casual way she holds herself.

What is it with the Queen siblings? Both of them are apparently equally accustomed to emotional manipulation and hiding their feelings. She had thought it was a legacy of Oliver’s island experiences, but here’s his younger sister showing the exact same traits.

She reaches out and takes the girl’s hand in her own. And squeezes it.

There are no words.

But sometimes there don't need to be words.

Thea looks at her gratefully and that’s when they hear the first crash.

It sounds like someone just gone through a window.

Given how high up they are, Felicity immediately worries. It's a long way down to the ground floor.

She’s on her feet, heading for the door before Thea can move.

Another crash sounds, then a grunt and the dull sounds Felicity associates with Diggle and Oliver training - the sound of punches landing. Hard.

She cracks open the door and sees Juliette, hand raised, about to knock.

So it’s not an attack then.

Attacking forces rarely take the time to knock.

“You’d better come quickly,” Juliette says, “because as good a story as this will make, blood is such a bitch to get out of carpet.”


	12. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day. Wow, this has gone from the thing I could not get down on paper to two chapters at once. Yay!

Oliver rubs his forehead as his sister drags his wife off into one of the suite bedrooms and shuts the door. He hopes this is going to be the nice kind of girl talk, full of sisterly affection and hair-braiding but Felicity doesn't seem to have that many female friends (none that he's met or heard her mention, in fact) and Thea's approach to information gathering has several things in common with Edward Fyers’ interrogation methods so he doesn’t feel particularly comforted.

Still he thinks his wife can take it.

His wife.

He can't deny he gets a little pang of pride every time he thinks the words. His wife. His Felicity.

His.

And he’s hers. This whole marriage thing goes both ways.

“So Ollie,” Juliette says from the sofa, “any comment on why you felt the need to hide your romantic relationship from your family?”

“Privacy is security,” he says, immediately. “After everything that happened in the Glades, there were threats against the family. I didn't want to expose Felicity to that.”

“And Thea? Why didn’t you want to expose Felicity to Thea?”

“Are you kidding me?” He says, forcing a smile. “The two of them together could take over the world! I didn't want to let them gang up on me until I absolutely had to.”

Juliette laughs but he knows it's all for show. He even knows what the next question will be, so he braces himself to hear it.

“Some might say you were embarrassed...” And of course, Juliette leaves the question open-ended, so when he answers he has to admit whether it’s the dating outside of his social class or his drug taking sister he's more ashamed of.

“Juli, Juli, Juli,” Oliver says, walking over to the sofas, “when you’ve got a past as checkered as mine, you don’t get to be embarrassed. And what's to be ashamed of - the fact I’ve managed to fall in love with a beautiful, intelligent woman with a good job or the fact my sister volunteers her time to help people at CNRI?”

“Still,” Juliette says, “Felicity seems different to your past conquests.”

“Maybe that’s because she’s my wife,” he says, “and not someone looking to make a name for herself on TMZ.”

All the way through their interview banter Roy has been staring at him. He’s still staring at him now, dressed in that ever present red hoodie.

“We all have to grow up sometime,” Oliver adds to Juliette. “Can’t stay useless layabouts all our lives. Gotta shoulder some responsibility.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Juliette says, “I wouldn't have thought running a night club would be that much of a responsibility.”

“I have staff,” Oliver says, “employees who depend on my business for work. And customers who come to us to forget the troubles in the rest of their lives. That’s more than enough responsibility for me. I'm not trying to save the city. I wouldn't even know how.”

Abruptly Roy pushes himself off the sofa and stalks to the other side of the suite, apparently in search of a drink.

He helps himself to a beer from the bar area as Juliette and Oliver watch.

“You know,” Juliette says, “in all the excitement, I didn't quite get his name.”

Roy ignores her, knocking the cap off of the bottle on the edge of the counter.

“Hey,” Oliver says, feeling he has to live up to the disapproving older brother trope he’s established with Roy. “There’s an opener.”

“This was quicker,” Roy shrugs and necks the beer.

“How old are you?” Oliver asks.

“Old enough.”

“Really?” Oliver says, stepping forward, “then why are you dating my 18 year old sister.”

“None of your business.”

“My sister, my business.”

“You didn't seem keen to let her into your business,” Roy says, squaring off and dropping his voice low. “But I think we all know why that is.”

“The Post is wrong,” Oliver says, “I'm not who you think I am.”

“Really?” Roy says, “because I've taken a few pretty long looks at you and you’ve never looked like him. Until right now.”

Roy twists and throws the glass bottle at Oliver’s head, and Oliver instinctively throws up one hand and slaps the bottle out of the air, then immediately wishes he hadn't.

Juliette is right there.

The bottle slams into the ground and smashes. Oliver doesn't flinch.

But he knows he needs to lose this fight. And that’s gonna hurt.

Roy has a satisfied look on his face.

“Pretty fast hands for a nightclub owner,” Roy says, with just an edge of a sneer in his voice.

“Cocktails,” Oliver says, “lots of throwing and catching. I have to practice.”

“Right,” Roy says and runs forward, barrelling into Oliver and knocking him backwards into the glass coffee table.

It’s surprisingly hard for Oliver to not deflect Roy, but he clenches his fists and lets himself be taken down, feeling glass slivers cut into exposed skin and they hit the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver sees Juliette jump over the back of the sofa and run for the bedroom where Felicity and Thea went.

He groans and flips Roy off him, trying to make his movements as clumsy as he can.

But the instincts are too deeply ingrained and Roy lands hard.

“Why are you doing this?” Oliver says, “I'm not who you’re looking for.”

“The Hood’s a psychopath, right?” Roy says, flipping to his feet. He has some training then, Oliver notes, even if it seems to be more gymnastics than martial.

Oliver uses the sofa arm to lever himself up, purposely sagging with the effort.

Roy comes at him again and Oliver has to close his eyes to force his body to accept the punch to the chin without blocking it.

But even when he was just Oliver Queen and not the Hood, he still could throw a punch and so he lands a fist in Roy's stomach hard, causing the younger man to lose his air.

Roy sweeps his leg and Oliver forces himself to go down hard on the floor, though he does make sure to land in a mostly glass-free patch.

“Why are you doing this?” Roy says, soft enough that Felicity, Thea and Juliette can't hear. “Why take the hit? I know you can beat me.”

Oliver doesn't answer, just scoots himself backwards, one hand cradling his bruised cheek.

Felicity rushes to his side, playing the part of worried wife to a tee. She glares up at Roy, who turns pleading eyes on an apoplectic Thea.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Thea yells.

Roy licks his lips and doesn’t answer but apparently Thea doesn’t need him too.

“He's my brother!” She yells. “The Post is wrong! He said so. You said so, or don’t you remember?”

“Thea,” Roy says, holding out his hands, placatingly.

“No,” she says, “just go. Go!”

Roy’s mouth twists but he heads for the door.

Felicity leans in close to Oliver’s face and pokes at his cheekbone.

“Didn’t break the skin,” she mumbles, half under her breath. “No stitches today.”

“Ow,” Oliver says, then realises he’ll need to ham that up more. “Owwww!”

“Stop whining,” Felicity snaps, “don’t be a baby.”

“Married less than a day,” Oliver jokes, “less than a day.”

Oliver hears the door close behind Roy and suddenly Thea is there, crouching beside him.

“Ollie,” she says, “I'm so sorry, I don't know what to say.”

“Say there's ice,” Oliver says, looping an arm each around both Felicity and Thea and making a big show of getting to his feet. “And liquor.”

“I’m on it,” Thea says, once he's steady. Then she runs for the bar, her heels sending glass fragments everywhere.

Juliette watches her go, a thoughtful expression on her face. Oliver inwardly curses; losing a fight to Roy seems to have convinced Thea, but Roy seems just as intent as ever and, if anything, Juliette seems more interested in his possible connection to the Hood than she was earlier. This will still need to be taken care of.

There’s a knock at the door as Felicity helps Oliver to the nearby sofa.

Felicity glances at her watch and grins at him.

“It's about time,” she mutters and crosses to the door.

He’s happy to see she takes the time to check through the peephole before she opens the door. Felicity is never as conscientious about her own security as he’d like.

“Mr Diggle,” she says, smiling widely, “you missed all the fun.”

“Hello Ms Smoak,” Diggle says, purposely formal, “or is it Ms Queen now?”

“Smoak will do,” she says, closing the door behind him. “Oliver’s on the sofa. He got into a fight with Thea’s boyfriend.”

“I am so sorry about that,” Thea says carrying ice cubes in a towel back to Oliver on the sofa. 

“It’s okay,” Oliver says, “but know I'm going to bring this up again when I can move my jaw without pain. I’m going to bring this up a lot.”

Thea hands over the ice with a grimace and Oliver presses the towel to his face.

“Mr Queen,” Diggle says, “please accept my apologies for being late. Your jet, it seems, was occupied.”

Oliver turns a glare on Thea who scurries back to the bar to get more ice.

Diggle takes advantage of her absence to quirk an amused eyebrow at Oliver.

“May I introduce Juliette Parker,” Oliver says, waving a hand in the direction of the reporter, “of the... Actually, Juli, who are you with now?”

“Daily Star,” she says.

“That rag?”

“Better them than the Post, don’t you think?”

“Still aiming for the Daily Planet?”

“Eventually,” she says. “But the Star give me autonomy and a generous expense account. It’s a good deal these days.”

“Juliette Parker of the Daily Star,” Oliver finishes his introduction to Diggle. “She'll be joining us this evening.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?”

“No,” Oliver says with a wince, “but it's the deal I struck.”

“It’s a good deal these days,” Juliette repeats and Oliver shrugs.

“Best I could do,” he admits.

“There’s glass in your neck,” Felicity says from behind him, “Digg, can you help me clean him up?”

Diggle immediately wraps an arm under Oliver’s torso and lifts. Oliver takes more than a little pleasure at being allowed to make the type of pained sounds he trained himself out of years ago.

Her back to Juliette and Thea, Felicity rolls her eyes at him.

“There’s a first aid kit in the main bedroom,” she says, “Thea, can you get some more ice? Juliette, I’m sure you’ll understand if we don’t invite you in.”

Felicity closes the bedroom door on the sight of Thea heading for the exit with the ice bucket and Juliette looking unimpressed.

“What,” she says, irritably, “was that about?”

“He thought I was the Hood,” Oliver says, “and he picked a fight to prove it.”

“You couldn’t walk away, or I don’t know, not get beaten up?”

“Oliver Queen doesn’t do either of those things. Too dumb to back down from a fight and too slow to win one.”

“You know that third person thing you do is not creepy at all,” Diggle remarks as he pushes Oliver’s head down and pokes at the shallows cuts on his neck. “Not much glass here, just a few slivers. I can get them out with tweezers.”

Felicity hands him the tweezers from the med kit and winces as Diggle pulls a small bloody glass splinter out of his neck.

“I had to lose the fight,” Oliver says. “And it had to look real.”

“There’s such a thing as too real, Oliver,” Felicity says.

“Is this our first fight as man and wife?” He asks.

“Husband and wife,” she corrects, “and that's a point, you need to cool it with the ’I click my fingers and the wife obeys’ malarkey. That’s not now, nor will it ever be our thing.”

“We have a thing?”

“You have a marriage,” Diggle says, “that's a pretty big thing.”

“Thanks Digg.”

“Welcome.”

“Will the plan still work with Thea here?” Felicity says.

“I hope so,” Oliver says, “because I'm not leaving her alone in the same city as Helena.”

“So she’s coming with?” Diggle asks. “Isn’t that risky?”

“We can protect her,” Oliver says, “and it’ll be much easier now the kid is gone.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” Felicity says, and then Thea is knocking at the door with more ice and they’re back to covering their tracks once more.


	13. The press-line

Thea curls her hair. 

Felicity has never been a girl’s girl. She doesn’t have close female friends. She never really did the sleepover makeover thing; she wasn’t popular and was always far more comfortable spending time with her computers than other teenagers. But Thea is apparently determined to make up for Roy’s attack with make-up advice and hair dressing and more female affection than Felicity is accustomed to.

She tries to relax but she doesn't have her contacts in yet, and her glasses are elsewhere and Thea is gesturing enthusiastically with a curling iron alarmingly close to her face, talking the whole time.

Felicity hasn't met many people who could match her in babbling, but Oliver’s sister on a guilt trip is apparently one of them.

The rest of the afternoon had passed much quicker than Felicity thought. It seemed like one second she was pressing band aids on the cuts on Oliver’s neck, the next she was stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in the complimentary bathrobe to find Thea sitting on the bed and complimenting her on her taste in shoes.

“I just don’t know why he gets like this,” Thea says and Felicity snaps back to the present as she feels the growing heat of the curling iron against her ear.

She flinches and raises her hand but Thea is already apologising profusely.

“I am so sorry,” the teenager says, “do you need me to get the medical kit?”

“I'm fine,” she reassures Thea. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Thea sighs, “I can't seem to do anything right. I shouldn't have brought Roy - I knew he’d do something stupid. He’s obsessed with the Hood. Like full-on obsessed.”

“Well,” Felicity says, reasonably. “The Hood did save his life, right? I think he’s allowed to be a little obsessed.”

“A little, yeah, but this is way past that.”

“He’ll come around,” Felicity reassures her, even though she has no idea if that’s true. “It’ll be okay.”

“You know,” Thea sniffs, and Felicity is suddenly very aware of how young she is, “apart from Ollie coming back from the dead, this really has been a shitty year.”

Felicity thinks about how this all must look from Thea’s perspective; her mother is in jail, her boyfriend has just attacked her brother who kept what she has to assume was a pretty major romantic relationship a secret from her, her step-father is gone (but only after being kidnapped and missing for months), her city is in ruins. And she’s only 18. It seems too much to take in.

“My mother used to say, ’everything works out in the end,’” Felicity says. “And if it hasn't worked out yet, that’s because it’s not the end. There’s still time.”

“Is that from a movie?” Thea asks.

“It might be,” Felicity admits, “but that doesn't mean it’s bad advice.”

She wraps an awkward arm around the younger girl’s shoulder and gives her a hug.

“I know you don’t know me yet,” she says, “but if you need to talk...”

Thea sniffs and then visibly gets a hold of herself and smiles.

“Who knew?” She says, “My dumb big brother might have done something smart for once.”

Felicity returns the smile.

“But I should finish your hair.”

Felicity nods and tries not to flinch when the heat of the curling iron brushes against her skin.

* * *

Felicity knows she can clean up nice. She might live in her blouses and pencil skirts and panda flats but she can, and has, rocked a cocktail dress on several occasions.

In front of Oliver even.

So there’s really no reason for his jaw to drop quite so impressively when she walks out of the second bedroom.

Diggle whistles and Felicity grins at him and spins around like a little girl.

Thea laughs, delighted and Felicity sketches a bow in her direction.

“You look amazing,” Oliver says.

“All credit to Ms Queen here,” Felicity says. “She’s like an artist with lipstick.”

“Are you even wearing lipstick?” Oliver says, stepping in close and bringing up his hands to stroke her face. He leans in for a kiss and then Thea is there, hitting him with her handbag. 

“No, uh-uh,” Thea says, “no messing up all my hard work until after the photo line.”

Oliver glares at her and Felicity giggles.

“Be happy you’re pretty,” Oliver says, leaning in to kiss his sister on the forehead, “getting between me and my wife is a dangerous move.”

“Oh, I'm so scared,” Thea teases, “and where’s my compliment?”

“You look lovely, Thea.”

“Is that Galliano?” Juliette asks from the sofa. She’s in a short black dress that manages to be both very formal and professional while still looking incredibly sexy. 

“McQueen,” Thea answers, looking down at her short, tight and incredibly colorful lace dress.

“Nice,” Juliette says, “suits you.”

“Thanks,” Thea beams.

“How about you Ms Smoak?” Juliette asks and Felicity has to look helplessly at Oliver. 

“I honestly have no idea,” she says. And she doesn't. Her dress is turquoise blue velvet and she's loves it but she has no idea of its providence. 

“Talbot Runhof,” Oliver supplies. 

“Very nice,” Juliette says and makes a note on her phone.

“You look lovely,” Felicity says, realising none of them have complimented the reporter and receives a raised eyebrow in return.

“Be careful,” Juliette quips, “no fraternising with the enemy.”

“Are you my enemy?”

“I’m not your friend,” Juliette says. She grins at Oliver. “You’ll need to look after her, Ollie. There are sharks in these waters.”

“And I’m sure it’s in your interest to protect your exclusive,” Oliver says, “so tonight you’re our shark.”

Juliette chuckles and hums the theme from Jaws.

Diggle turns, raising a hand to his ear.

“The car is here,” he states.

“Good,” Oliver replies.

“Diggle’s not driving?” Thea asks.

“I want an extra pair of hands to keep the press away from you and Felicity.”

“I've been talking to the press for years,” Thea says.

“I know,” he smiles, “that’s why you’re on protection duty too.” He takes Felicity’s hand and squeezes it. “I need you to help me protect her, Thea.”

“Sure,” Thea says, seemingly proud to be asked. She steps up beside Felicity and links arms with her. “Me and Filly here are buds.”

“Oh please don't call me that,” Felicity winces.

“Licity?” Thea tries and Felicity shakes her head. “Itty?”

“No.”

“But your name is soooooo long,” Thea complains, looking at her beseechingly. 

“My mom called me Fiz when I was little, or Fizzy.” Felicity relents. Oliver has already heard it from Matthew so there’s no point hiding it. 

Behind Oliver, Felicity sees Diggle raise his eyebrows and mouth “Fizzy?” at her. She mock-glares at him and he grins.

But Thea is delighted.

“Fizzy!” She grins, “that’s more like it.”

She tugs on Felicity’s arm, pulling her away from Oliver and follows Diggle out of the suite.

Felicity looks over her shoulder and sees Oliver offer an arm which Juliette accepts with good grace.

And they’re off.

* * *

Matthew has gone all out for his auction. Limos and town cars are lined up along the approach to the Wynn. Spotlights search the sky. Crowds of paparazzi are held back by metal railings from a red carpet. To Felicity’s admittedly untrained eye there appear to be thousands of them. 

“Ready?” Oliver says. 

And she nods. They decided in the car that Oliver will exit first, then Thea, then Felicity. He’ll then escort them both along the carpet while Juliette and Diggle follow at a discreet distance. 

At least that’s the plan.

Instead Diggle opens the car door from the outside and Felicity is instant struck blind by the force of a thousand flashbulbs.

“Wuh?” She says, reaching to cover her eyes.

“I'm told it’s better if you don't look at them directly,” Juliette says, but there’s not time for her to need the advice. Oliver and Thea are already outside of the car and Oliver is holding a hand out to her.

She’s seen this scene a thousand times on television or in magazines. The red carpet. Photographers. Starlets.

She’s even seen Oliver and Thea do this before. She looked him up when he first walked into her office and found page after page of search results. 

Mostly with a model or actress on his arm. Sometimes Laurel and sometimes a very young Thea, but mostly random anonymous women.

It never looked as hard as it is.

She’s on edge and nervous and she’s sure it’s showing in the pictures.

Beside her Oliver and Thea have pleasant half-smiles plastered on their faces but Felicity, for all that Thea had her practice in a mirror, can't seem to hold the right expression. 

Luckily she doesn’t have to for long.

In the interests of keeping Juliette on-side Oliver and Felicity avoid the waiting camera crews - though she hears her name called as often as his which is more than a little disconcerting. Instead Thea gives two minutes to a few different networks, with Diggle hovering behind her in case anyone gets too close. 

“Oh, I'm thrilled that Ollie is married,” Felicity hears Thea trill at a camera. “Felicity is wonderful and just what he needs!”

But then they’re out of earshot and through the double doors, Juliette on their heels.

“Fuck,” Felicity swears, feel entirely justified in her choice of language, “how do you do that? Why would you voluntarily do that regularly? Why would anyone?”

But Oliver is prevented from replying by the arrival of Matthew, who throws his arms around both of them and mock-glowers at Juliette.

“I’m sure you’re not on the guest list Parker.”

“Guest of Mr and Mrs Queen,” Juliette says smugly and Matthew turns hurt eyes on Oliver.

“I'll make it up to you buddy,” Oliver says, with a grin. “She had me over a barrel.”

“At least three high value bids,” Matthew demands with a grin. “And you have to buy something.”

“Done,” Oliver says and offers him a hand to shake. Matthew laughs and leans in to kiss Felicity on the cheek.

“You look ravishing,” he says and she feels herself blush.

“Thanks.”

Matthew turns and grabs two glasses of champagne off of a passing tray and hands them to Oliver and Felicity.

He takes a third for himself and very pointedly does not offer one to Juliette.

Juliette rolls her eyes and ignores him.

“To a great evening,” Matthew toasts and the three of them chink glasses.

Felicity lifts hers to her lips and mimes drinking. As with lunch Oliver and Diggle decided that ingesting anything that they don't absolutely know where it came from tonight would be risky. So for now she just tips the glass and feels champagne bubble against her lips but doesn’t open her mouth.

“Where’s Helen?” Oliver asks as Matthew walks them through the entrance hall to the ball room.

“Around,” Matthew says vaguely. “She doesn't like glad-handing, tends to avoid the meet-and-greet parts.”

Oliver nods but Felicity can see him scanning the crowd surreptitiously.

The ballroom is huge and square and decorated with many tiny diamond shaped lights at floor level, a pretty displsy which leaves the ceiling dark. A mezzanine balcony can be glimpsed in the shadow at one end and Oliver’s eyes lock onto it.

“Not using the upper levels tonight?” He asks.

Matthew shrugs.

“Don't need ’em. We’ve got more than enough space down here.”

Felicity watches as Oliver smiles and nods. But she can see the restless energy in him and how much he wants to be able to sneak out and investigate the closed off balcony himself. 

She slips an arm around his waist and squeezes. He looks down at her with a wry glance.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Matthew says, “I've got more people to play door greeter for.”

Oliver nods and Matthew steps back.

Juliette has also moved away, taking pictures with her phone.

Oliver glances around then smiles down at Felicity.

“You know this is the first time we’ve been alone together since lunch,” she says.

“There was five minutes in an elevator,” he reminds.

“Five minutes of heaven,” she teases him, “but it’s hardly fair.”

“There was the car ride to the shopping mall,” he says.

“We were on speaker phone to John,” she says, “the whole time.”

“I knew we should never have left that room this morning,” Oliver says. “All I wanted to do was take you back to bed.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I didn't think you wanted me to.”

Felicity sends him an incredulous look and he huffs out a laugh.

“I know,” he says, “but this morning feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Yeah,” she says, and brings her arms up around his neck, “you know, we’re past the press line.”

“So we are,” he agrees and his hand comes up to cup her cheek and he leans in and -

“God, you two and the PDAs. Get a room, why don't you?”

Felicity glances sideways to see Thea, tapping her foot in mock-impatience.

“Curses,” Felicity tips her chin up to whisper against Oliver’s lips, “foiled again.”

“No,” Oliver says, “not this time.” 

And he kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, this fic is now the one I did dress research for.
> 
>  Thea's dress - http://www.harveynichols.com/womens/categories-1/designer-dresses/evening/s461083-interlock-lace-print-stretch-knitted-jersey-dress.html?colour=PINK
> 
> Juliette's dress - http://www.harveynichols.com/womens/categories-1/designer-dresses/evening/s462873-draped-jersey-dress.html?colour=BLACK
> 
> Felicity's dress - http://www.harveynichols.com/womens/categories-1/designer-dresses/gowns/s457399-bossa2-stretch-velvet-gown.html?colour=TURQUOISE


	14. The heist

“Wow,” Felicity says, “that’s pretty big.”

Oliver wraps his arms around her from behind and tucks his mouth close to her ear so no one can hear.

“Pressure sensors underneath,” he says, softly, “and the glass is shatter proof.”

“Nothing’s unbreakable,” she murmurs as they look at the admittedly impressive sight of the Logan diamond lying nestled on a bed of dark blue velvet.

It’s in a glass case, ostensibly secured, but Oliver knows that if Helena plans to steal this, it can't be as secure as it seems. After all, she’s no cat burglar, and she wanted his help with the job - which suggests she’s aiming more for a smash and grab than a subtle infiltration. It’s right up against the low stage at the end of the room and there are two guard within 20 feet but he doesn't think that’s enough.

The back of his neck itches - he feels exposed here. He misses the comforting weight of his hood. And his bow.

“Ooohh,” Thea says, leaning in close enough that her nose is almost pressed to the glass case. “Shiny.”

Felicity laughs and Thea grins at her. “That’s it, right?” His sister says, “That’s the one we don't get to bid on.”

“Yup,” Felicity says, “the biggest diamond to be found in the last century. Very much not for sale tonight.”

“Well, that makes it a tease.”

“Not impressed, Thea?” Oliver asks.

“I’ve seen bigger,” Thea says, dismissively. “Walter took me to see the Crown Jewels at the Tower last time we were in London. Now that is some serious bling.”

“I bet,” Felicity says.

“You ever seen them?”

“Only pictures,” Felicity shrugs. “Never been to London. Never been anywhere really.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” Thea says with a grin, “we Queens are jet-setters, don't you know?”

“I'm still a Smoak.”

“Only in name,” Thea scoffs, “that,” she adds, gesturing at Felicity’s ring, “makes you family. Though seriously, Ollie, you couldn’t get her a rock? Plain gold is very, well, plain.”

“Why do you think we’re here tonight,” Oliver says and Thea claps her hands with excitement.

“Come on,” she says to Felicity, “let's go choose your present!”

“You can’t be serious,” his wife says to him and he smiles and shrugs.

But she lets Thea pull her away to the other displays, talking the whole time about carats and settings and what type of ring she should choose.

“If it costs more than my car I’m not wearing it,” Felicity says to Thea but through the earpieces she, he and Diggle are wearing it’s crystal clear and he knows the words are meant just as much for him as his sister.

Oliver smiles and Diggle steps in beside him, his back to the diamond and his eyes on the room.

“Anything?”

“Nothing yet,” Diggle says, “I’ve informed the security office about the ’threat’ made against you as we planned, but they think they’ve got it covered. No extra personnel required.”

“The balcony worries me,” Oliver admits. “It’s where I’d be.”

“Helena doesn't have your aim. Or your range.”

“Depends on what her weapon of choice is for this evening.”

“True,” Diggle says. “You spotted her yet?”

“No,” Oliver admits, “and that worries me.”

“Guards patrol the balcony every twenty minutes or so,” Diggle says.

“That's not often enough.”

“You're telling me,” Diggle says wryly. “There are days when I'm embarrassed to be associated with the private security industry.”

“You’re one of a kind Digg.”

“Don't you forget it.”

Oliver scans the crowd, listening absently to Felicity’s “umm”s and “ah”s over Thea’s jewellery suggestions. After a few minutes he hears Juliette start to weigh in and his sister and the journalist debate whether one big stone or lots of small ones is a better choice.

“Guys, I really don't need another ring,” Felicity says.

They ignore her.

“This is your fault, Oliver,” he hears her say too softly for the other women to pick up on.

He smiles. Even when he can't see her, she makes him smile.

His eyes fall on the shadowed balcony.

“I really want to go check that out,” he admits to Diggle.

“Well you can't,” Diggle says, “the plan calls for you to be visible all night, remember?”

“I know,” he says, “I’m starting to not like the plan.”

“It was your plan.”

“I know.”

“Felicity and I argued against it.”

“I know.”

“Changing it at this point would be unwise.”

“I know!”

Diggle cocks an eyebrow at Oliver’s tone.

“Sorry,” Oliver says, “I just hadn't realised how hard it is to be here and do nothing.”

“Welcome to my world,” Felicity mutters.

“What?” Oliver hears Thea say.

“Nothing,” Felicity replies, “what do you think about emeralds?”

Oliver tunes out his sister’s response.

“If Helena is looking to set the Hood up to take the fall here,” Diggle reminds him, “you need independent witnesses that he is not you.”

“I know,” Oliver sighs. “And on that note I should catch up with Juliette. No point being in sight if she can't see me. And you.”

“Lead the way,” Diggle agrees.

* * *

Nothing happens during the pre-auction viewing. At least nothing unexpected happens. Oliver talks to Juliette, teases his sister, flirts with his wife, while Diggle stands as a reassuring shadow at his back. Matthew drops by for several two minute conversations as he works the room, extracting from Oliver further promises to bid on four items, then five, until Thea is also roped in for two bids and Felicity has only been able to avoid a promise because she whispered her salary into Matthew’s ear and the pitying look he responded with was enough to send her into giggles.

Oliver puts his arm around his wife and reminds her that what’s his is hers and she responds that maybe they should let at least a week pass after the “I do”s before she starts to diminish his family fortune.

Juliette laps the whole evening up like a cat with cream, seemingly never bothered by the dark looks Matthew sends her way when he drops by.

Oliver grows more tense with every passing moment, convinced that there’s a crossbow targeted at his back. Or Felicity’s. Or Thea’s.

He hates this.

He goes from holding Felicity’s hand or resting a hand on the small of her back to keeping hold of her with both arms, as if by covering more of her body with his he can prevent the worst from happening.

Thea notices.

“Newlyweds,” she scoffs. 

Juliette raises an eyebrow.

“It’s as if you’ve only just met,” she says, “you’re still in the honeymoon stage.”

“Appropriate, don't you think?” Oliver says.

He presses his lips to Felicity’s cheek and she blushes. He’s standing behind her, one arm wrapped around her abdomen, holding her against him. His other hand lies loosely on her hip.

“You’re going to give everyone in here a toothache,” Thea complains.

Juliette eyes him but doesn’t say anything. 

Felicity shifts in his arms and his thumb slips down, running over the hard edge of her hipbone.

He allows himself a second to think about what he remembers from last night. Licking ice cream off her skin, wrapping his shirt around her naked torso, her skin glistening with sweat as she moved above him.

Oliver suddenly realises that he’ll have all that again tonight - and he’ll remember it this time. She’s his wife - he’s allowed to touch her. He could touch her right now.

He pulls his head back to see her neck. There’s a few freckles grouped together, right where her neck meets her shoulder. A loose curl from the complicated updo that Thea weaved her hair into lies just above it.

He brings his hand up from her hip and winds the curl around his finger.

Then he drops his lips down to kiss the freckles. Opens his mouth slightly to taste her skin with his tongue.

Suddenly he can’t remember why stopping Helena’s theft of the Logan diamond is important. How could anything be more important than tasting every inch of Felicity’s skin?

Felicity shivers against him and he opens the fingers of the hand he has pressed against her stomach and pushes her back so she’s pinned against him.

“Oliver,” she gasps and he’s ready to give up this whole thing right now. Let Helena have the diamond, let Matthew make his own choices, let Juliette write how he was suspiciously not there when the heist happened-

And then the lights go out.

The music cuts out too, and suddenly they and the crowd are all standing in a dark ballroom with no natural light. 

Felicity freezes against him and he hears Thea make a surprised noise and he sees the movement in his peripheral vision that means Diggle has a weapon in his hands. And then -

Then the lights come up to reveal Matthew on stage, microphone in hand.

“Welcome,” Matthew says, “to the Arnstein Industries charity auction for SLDT, the Society for the Legitimate Diamond Trade, who are fighting to end the illegal trade in blood diamonds and the appalling conditions under which they are mined in Africa.”

Polite applause echoes around the room. 

Felicity puts her (full) champagne glass down and joins in. He has his hands full of her so he just taps a quiet rhythm against the material of her dress.

She turns her head so she can see him.

“You need to stop that,” she says softly, “you’re distracting me.”

“You’re distracting me,” he whispers. “All I can think about is you.”

“We need to pay attention,” she replies as soft as a whisper.

“I can't wait to get you alone,” he whispers, “can't wait to have our wedding night all over again and remember it this time.”

“Oliver,” she says but her voice is wavering, he can tell he’s having an effect on her.

“I can remember licking ice cream off of your skin,” he whispers, “it’s about all I can remember, but I remember it. Licking ice cream off your hip.”

Felicity shivers in his arms, her breath coming faster.

Diggle clears his throat behind them.

“Guys,” Diggle says sotto-voice, “you remember I can hear everything you’re saying, right?”

Oliver watches as Felicity blushes deeply, the red flush expanding from her cheeks down so the skin of her neck and shoulders even seem to glow with embarrassment.

Very deliberately she takes half a step forward, shooting him a look over her shoulder which includes a clear message to behave.

Oliver grins at her, then turns to glare at Diggle who looks far too pleased with himself.

“Sorry,” he says in a completely unrepentant tone.

Diggle snorts.

On stage Matthew is talking about the charity and the work they do. And while Oliver is sure it is a worthy cause, it's a speech he’s heard a thousand times before.

Donate for this, pay for that - save the whales, protect the rainforest, feed the children. All the charities do good work, he’s sure, but events like this are just for the rich to feel less guilty. They never seem to actually change anything, no matter how much money they make.

He itches to be dressed in his Hood, threatening people into better behavior and not just asking for their money on behalf of a cause. Or giving away money he never earned.

“And on behalf of everyone here,” Matthew says, “I’d like to thank my father for arranging for the Logan Diamond to be displayed.” He gestures at the glass case standing right beside him. “Sadly it’s not for sale, but we do have plenty of other gems to tempt you with. Now, onto the bidding.”

The crowd applauds as the lights go out again and everyone waits, expectantly.

But nothing happens.

“Er, hey,” Matthew says, “we appear to be experiencing technical difficulties. If everyone could stay calm-”

Suddenly Oliver hears a dull bang followed by the sound of glass breaking.

“-the lights will be back up and - arrrrrggh!”

Oliver starts at his friend’s scream and then the lights do come up - the dim emergency lights, not the small delicate display of illumination they’ve had all evening - and he can see Matthew on the floor, a green fletched arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

And the remains of the case for the Logan Diamond in front of him, scattered across the floor as if blown apart by a bomb.


	15. Riot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so it turns out I do have another part to post today...

Felicity spins on the spot, desperate to make sure Oliver and Diggle are where she left them and not doing something stupid.

She's just turns in time to see Diggle’s hand come down on Oliver’s arm.

“We need to secure you,” Diggle says in his professional bodyguard voice, “you and Thea and Felicity.” And Juliette, he doesn't say but Felicity hears it anyway.

Oliver Queen cannot just go running to the stage. He has no known medical or martial training. He would be a hindrance not a help.

The Hood would go.

But Oliver Queen is not the Hood.

Diggle has his sidearm in his hand and his face is intent. “We play this one by the book,” the former soldier says quickly in a low tone. He doesn’t tilt his head towards Juliette but his eyes dart in that direction and Felicity can see that Oliver gets the message.

"I know you want to go over there," she adds in a whisper, "but you really can't."

“Okay,” Oliver nods, pulling Felicity towards him with one arm and holding the other out to Thea.

“Is Matthew okay?” Thea says, as she takes Oliver’s hand, looking shaken.

“Looks like he got hit in the shoulder Ms Queen,” Diggle answers. “Flesh wound.”

It might be just a flesh wound but it’s still going to be painful. Felicity’s heart goes out to Matthew, lying alone on the stage.

A pair of doors near the stage smash open and half a dozen uniformed security personnel run in. They run for the stage, two of them carrying medical kits.

Diggle herds Felicity, the Queen siblings and Juliette to the side of the room and stands watch over them.

“Did you see where the shot came from?” Oliver asks Diggle quietly.

“No,” Diggle admits, “and I didn’t see anyone in the balcony either.”

The people in the room are uneasy but so far unpanicked. On stage the guards help Matthew sit up, proving he’s mostly unharmed and that seems to calm the crowd.

“Is the diamond gone?” Thea asks, “I can't see.”

“The case blew up,” Juliette says. “I can't see the diamond.” She turns to Oliver and holds out her digital recorder. “Any comment on what just happened?”

“I don't know what just happened,” Oliver says, “I think my friend Matthew was just hit by an arrow. But he seems to be mostly whole. Thank God.”

“It’s gone!” Someone yells from across the room. “The Logan diamond. It’s gone!”

The crowd shifts, conversation becoming louder, more frantic.

“Call the police,” Matthew coughs from the stage, “somebody call the police.”

“Did you see who shot the arrow?” Juliette says.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Oliver replies, a little testily, “and you know that because you were standing right beside me at the time.”

“The lights went out,” Juliette counters.

“Pretty hard to hide a bow in a tux,” Oliver replies, “though you’re welcome to search me.”

He opens his arms wide and Juliette raises an eyebrow, then sighs.

“The Post said the Hood works with others.”

“The Post said the Hood works with my wife and my bodyguard,” Oliver replies, “both of which are standing right here and neither of which are holding a bow and arrow. I am not the Hood. And neither are they.”

“No,” Juliette says, “I suppose not.” She turns to Thea. “Thea, any comment?”

“I really think someone should call an ambulance for Matthew,” Thea says, peering worriedly towards the stage. 

“Felicity?” Juliette’s recorder is suddenly in her face.

“I don’t understand,” she says, not having to work hard to tap into the panic she usually had to keep bottled up on team missions, “why attack Matthew? Why only fire once? What if he fires again, he might hit one of us-”

“Shush,” Oliver says, pulling her against his chest to end her fake-babbling. “We’re okay. Diggle will protect us.”

“You’re safe Ms Smoak,” Diggle adds, “don’t worry.”

And at that exact moment the lights go out again, except at this time, the crowd screams and panics and suddenly the space is full of people blindly running in the dark. She feels the air move and remembers that where they are standing six feet from the wall is still between some of the crowd and the exits and she just knows they are about to be knocked down by rioting rich people in formal wear.

Someone knocks into her shoulder and sends her spinning but Oliver grabs onto her arm and pulls her back.

“Ollie!” Felicity hears Thea cry out and she reaches out in the direction of the voice and feels lace under her fingers.

Oliver is pulling her towards the apparent safety of wall, and she stretches and her fingers snag Thea’s dress and she pulls her with them, hearing the younger woman let out an “eep!” at the movement.

Diggle cracks a chem light and she looks around to see Oliver bathed in green light and Thea looking panicked but right there like she should be. Safe. 

The rest of the room doesn't have chem lights and beyond the small circle of light things are still pitch black. Felicity can hear people running, people crying out in pain, people hammering on doors begging to be let out.

She suddenly realises who they’re missing.

“Juliette!” She calls and there’s a moan from nearby.

Diggle steps out, chem light in one hand, handgun in the other and the neon light illuminates Juliette on the floor, holding her ankle.

“Bastard,” she mutters, “knock me down like that. Wait ’til I write my editorial.”

“Can you stand?” Diggle asks.

Juliette shakes her head. 

“I think I twisted my ankle,” she says, “perils of heels.”

“Oliver,” Diggle says and Oliver pushes Thea and Felicity so both their backs are against the wall and takes the four steps to Diggle and crouches down by Juliette.

Felicity holds out a hand to Thea and the younger girl pulls her into a hug instead. Felicity wraps her arms around Oliver’s sister and makes comforting noises. She’s never really done it before and is surprised how easily it comes to her.

“Help her up,” Diggle says and Oliver gets an arm around Juliette’s shoulders and lifts her to her feet.

“You take orders now?” She asks as Oliver makes a bit of a show of helping her to safety.

“Diggle’s a professional,” Oliver says, “there’ve been kidnap attempts since I got back. I listen to him and he keeps me safe.”

“You really did grow up on that island,” Juliette says but then Diggle is back, cracking a second chem light and watching the darkness like he expects Helena to appear at any second. 

Oliver leans Juliette against the wall and steps up beside Diggle.

“Why are the doors locked?” Felicity asks, “they were open earlier.”

“Creates more panic,” Diggle says, “makes things more confusing. Easier to slip in and retrieve what you want.”

There's a crash and a set of double doors bursts outwards, and light floods back into the room. The crowd surge for the door, knocking some more vulnerable members to the floor in their panicked haste.

Felicity looks up to see Oliver setting his jaw. Wanting to help but needing to maintain his cover. She checks Diggle’s face and sees a similar expression.

It only takes a few seconds and then the crowd is gone, leaving only a few collapsed people in its wake.

Diggle and Oliver survey the scene and exchange a look.

“I don't see her,” Diggle says so only the mic can hear it. Felicity certainly can't hear their conversation without the earpiece.

“Me either.”

“She must have set the case to blow,” Diggle says, “then shot Arnstein when he got in her way.”

“She wasn't that good with a bow,” Oliver says.

“That was months ago,” Diggle says, “all it takes is practice.”

Oliver grimaces.

“What now?”

“Strategic withdrawal? I don't see what else we can do here.”

“No,” Oliver says, sounding more than a little annoyed, “me either.”

Felcity thinks she can hear sirens in the distance.

“I need to know if Matthew is okay,” Oliver says, loud enough for Thea and Juliette to hear, “but I don't want any trouble with the police. If we can not be here when they come that would be great.”

Diggle nods.

“We’ll get you to the limo,” Diggle says. “And then I will check on Mr Arnstein.”

Oliver nods agreement then picks Juliette up in his arms and leads the way towards the exit. 

Felicity follows with one arm still wrapped around Thea.

Diggle brings up the rear.

“Not what you expected from your exclusive?” Felicity hears Oliver ask Juliette.

“No,” the reporter lifts her head to look over Oliver’s shoulder at the commotion still going on by the stage. “I really should stay and get the story.”

“Do you want to?”

“Take me to the security check point,” Juliette says, “I’ll take it from there.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Aw Ollie,” Juliette says, “would you miss me?”

“Not tonight,” Oliver answers her. “But if you died I might feel a slight sense of loss. The Star might have to report actual news.”

“I take that as a compliment.” Juliette says.

Oliver pauses a few feet from where a security guard stands just inside the doors and gently sets Juliette on her feet.

“I’d like to see the story,” he says, “before you go to print.”

“Normally I’d say ’no’,” Juliette admits, “but you did just rescue me from a sprained ankle in a dark room. Are you still sure you’re not the Hood?” But there’s no sting to her words, it’s just a tease.

“Positive.”

“I’ll send the copy over tomorrow afternoon. Be seeing you.”

Oliver nods a good bye, but Juliette is already turning to quiz the guard. Felicity almost feels sorry for the man, he obviously has no idea what’s about to hit him.

He waits for Thea and Felicity to reach him, then steps up on Thea’s other side, wrapping an arm around his sister.

“We can go now right?” Thea says.

“We can go now.”

Felicity meets his eyes over Thea’s head and he smiles and mouths “thank you.” She shrugs it off and then Diggle is there.

“The security chief says Arnstein is being taken to Vegas General,” he offers, “but they’re treating it as a non-urgent wound. It wasn't very deep.”

“No?” Oliver says. His brow furrows and he looks back over their shoulders towards the ball room.

“What is it?” Felicity asks.

“A worrying thought,” Oliver says. She raises a questioning eyebrow and he shakes his head, “I’ll tell you later.”

Diggle has evidently signalled the driver because the second they leave the building - via a side door this time so as to avoid the waiting paparazzi - the car pulls up.

Felicity helps Thea into the car then looks up to see Oliver looking at her with a determined look.

“We’ve cleared my name,” he says, “or it will be when Juliette posts her article. Now I need to get that diamond back.”

“You don't even know where she is,” Felicity hisses at him, mindful of Thea behind her in the car.

“I won't be long,” he says, “I've just got something to check. Diggle will be with you.”

“You have one hour,” she says, “then I’m coming for you.”

He grins.

“I wish this night was ending differently,” he says.

“It still might,” she replies, “if you’re back within the hour.”

His grin seems to widen even more and then he presses a quick kiss to her lips and turns back into the hotel.

Felicity gets into the car and takes Thea’s hand.

“Oliver’s going to check on Matthew,” she says reassuringly. “He’ll be back soon.” 

She hopes only one of those sentences is a lie.


	16. Worrying

Oliver slips back inside the Wynn through the side door and jogs towards the ballroom.

He spies Juliette interrogating a hassled looking man in a cheap suit but manages to avoid catching her attention. She’s taken her shoes off and is gesturing while holding spike heels in one hand and her recorder in the other. Oliver notes how her victim’s eyes seem to follow the dangerous looking shoes wherever they go and doesn’t much like the man’s chances of escaping unscathed.

Unnoticed, he makes his way to the stage, stepping over broken champagne glasses and overturned furniture. 

He has his suspicions.

He really hopes they’re wrong.

Most of the security guards appear to be securing diamonds from the untouched cases or picking through the debris of what was the Logan diamond case in the hopes the stone is just hidden and not gone.

Matthew is sitting on stage with two EMTs. There’s an oxygen mask hanging around his neck, as if he’s pushed it off. The arrow stuck in his shoulder looks incongruous, and with the arrival of the ambulance and painkillers his expression has gone from pained to frustrated.

“Ollie,” Matthew waves when he spots him. “Thank God you’re okay. Where are Fizzy and Thea?”

“On the way back to the hotel with my bodyguard,” Oliver says, using one hand to brace himself as he vaults up onto the stage. “How about you?”

“Pfft,” Matthew says and waves his hand dismissively. “They gave me the good drugs. Can't feel a thing.”

Oliver leans in, looking at the arrow. It’s the right colour but the fletching is a different style.

Which makes sense. He customises all his gear from the standard. And not even Diggle is up on all the techniques he uses.

“Looks painful,” he remarks. 

He knows from personal experience just how painful an arrow through the shoulder can be.

But this isn’t through the shoulder.

It’s not even that deeply embedded.

Maybe an inch and a half at the most.

Oliver casts a glance up at the balcony. The overhead lights are on in the hall now, washing the glamour and mystique out of the room with their bright yellow glow.

He can clearly see the mezzanine now, see the emptiness, and the angle the shot would have to have taken.

If it was Helena.

He looks at Matthew and sighs. 

This is going to take longer than an hour. Damn.

“Want company in the emergency room buddy?” He offers.

“Oh, I'm not going to Vegas Gen,” Matthew says, dismissively. “My father’s doctor is waiting in my suite.”

“I really think you should let us take you to the hospital, sir.” One of the EMTs says.

Matthew waves a hand.

“It’s fine,” he says, “look it’s not even in that deeply.” And before the techs or Oliver can stop him Matthew grasps the shaft of the arrow and pulls it out of himself.

“Sir!”

“I'm not sure that was your best idea Matty,” Oliver says.

“Help me get my jacket off,” Matthew says, pushing at his tuxedo jacket. Oliver obliges, lifting the black material back and down Matthew’s arms.

The shoulder of the jacket is wet with blood, it pulls away awkwardly, the silk stuck to the material of the soaked through shirt underneath.

Matthew’s removal of the arrow has brought fresh blood to the surface, and Oliver can see the bright red stain spreading out over the darker drying marks of the first bleed.

The EMT presses a cotton pad to Matthew’s shoulder and Matthew grunts. 

“Hospital,” Oliver says, “please.”

“Hotel,” Matthew insists, "please.” His eyes lock onto Oliver’s and he smiles, weakly. “I just lost a priceless diamond and was used for target practice by a vigilante. I need a doctor I trust and a stiff drink.”

“Okay,” Oliver relents. He gets an arm around Matthew and helps him to his feet. “I’ll take you to your hotel. Let me call my driver.”

* * *

The radios have a relatively short operating distance so Felicity loses Oliver’s signal a block or so from the Wynn.

Thea seems to be in shock - she has barely let go of Felicity’s hand since Felicity pulled her out of harm’s way in the dark ballroom. Now she’s sitting tucked under Felicity’s arm and Felicity realises she’s starting to shiver.

Diggle is sitting across from them in the back of the limo so Felicity raises her eyes to his.

“John,” is all she says, and all she has to say. Diggle meets her gaze, looks at Thea and strips off his jacket and offers it to them.

Felicity tucks the jacket around Thea, trying to warm her up.

“I don’t understand,” Thea says, her voice, slightly muffled by Felicity’s shoulder. “Why did Ollie go?”

“He was worried about Matthew,” Felicity repeats, but it's the fourth time she’s answered this question and she doesn't hold out much hope Thea will take it in properly this time either.

Diggle looks at Thea, then turns and knocks on the dividing screen.

It rolls down.

“Underground parking,” Diggle say, “we don't want to face the press tonight.”

The screen rolls back up and Felicity wonders what it is like to live in this world of drivers and cooks and servants who don't need pleases and thank yous.

She supposes she’s about to find out. If she and Oliver do make this work that is.

She pushes that thought aside. It’s been a long enough day. She doesn't need self doubt and worry to top it off with.

Thea makes a slight snuffling noise and Felicity looks down to see that the teenager has fallen asleep. 

It makes her smile to see it.

She looks up to see Diggle smiling too.

“Big day,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Felicity agrees. “It's not over yet.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” she repeats, “except that we just made a big deal of clearing his name, so he really shouldn't immediately go off and dirty it.”

“Shhh,” Diggle gently chastises her, “let the girl sleep.”

Felicity looks out of the window at all the neon and tries hard not to worry about Oliver.

* * *

Diggle ends up carrying Thea into the hotel. They take a secure elevator from the underground parking lot, a Mirage staff member meeting them in the basement and turning a key to prevent the elevator from stopping at any other floor.

Felicity leads Diggle down the hallway to their suite, checking her phone as she goes.

No message from Oliver.

She gets to the door and swipes the keycard.

“Put her in my room,” Felicity says. “That's where her bags are.”

Diggle nods and carries Thea in. Felicity follows. 

Thea is out for the count.

She doesn't stir when Diggle lays her down, or when Felicity takes off her shoes and gently pulls out her earrings. Instead Thea just rolls over, curling up and so Felicity smoothes the covers over her, then stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, trying to figure out if there's anything else she should do. She’s never really had to look after anyone before. Unless you count stitching Oliver up on occasion.

Thea starts to snore and Felicity nods to herself and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

“He went back for something,” Diggle says when she reappears in the main room of the suite. “What do you think it was?”

“I don't know,” she sighs, “I really don't. He said it was ’a worrying thought’.” She sighs. “I'd feel better if we had more gear here. These radios don't have the range and I'm limited in what I can do with my tablet.”

“He said ’one hour’, right?”

She nods.

“He's got 25 minutes left,” Diggle says. “Can you see if you can break into the security system at the Wynn, get access to the cameras?”

“Okay,” she says, “but in 25 minutes, if he doesn’t call...”

“I’ll go after him,” Diggle reassures her.

“Thanks. I'm not sure why it's different now,” she admits, “but it is.”

Diggle smiles at her.

“You married him.”

“Yeah but I don't remember it.”

“You're choosing to stay married to him.”

“Yes,” she says, but she can't help but bite her lip. “But...

“Felicity.”

“What if it’s not real?” She says suddenly all at once, “what if it's just Vegas and bright lights and being so doped up you lose your memory and wake up naked beside the one person you never thought would look twice at you!”

“Felicity,” Diggle tries to interrupt but she won’t be stopped now.

“Naked! And married! And he says ’annulment’ and then there’s lunch and being the fake wife and he says ’no annulment’ and what if he changes his mind again tomorrow?”

“Felicity!” Diggle says and his hands come down on her shoulders, and she looks up at him in his comforting stability. “Breathe.”

And she breathes.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Diggle says, “and I know you haven't had any time to do that. And I know this must feel very spur of the moment to you. But it’s not. I've been watching you two circle around each other for months and anyone with eyes could see this was coming.”

She breathes. In and out. Deep breaths.

“You don't remember yesterday,” Diggle says, “but I do. Oliver called me first. Not you. He called first, and he said that he’d kissed you and you were wonderful and he couldn't stop talking about your hair.”

“My hair?”

“You must have noticed he has a thing for your hair,” Diggle says and Felicity shakes her head. 

“You didn't think that was a sign that he wasn’t himself?” She says in a small voice.

“No,” Diggle says, “I didn't. I don't. However much you were both under the influence, I think yesterday was the first time he saw clearly in a while.”

“Really?”

“I can’t claim to know what’s going on in his head,” Diggle says, “but I do know that you two work together, that you belong together. You were already on this path, Felicity. Things just got moved up.”

He smiles at her and she smiles back at him.

Diggle leans in and kisses her forehead.

“Now,” he says, “we’ve got 17 minutes ’til I'm chasing after him. I’m going to my room - which is just down the hall - and I'm going to get out of this damn monkey suit and into my billionaire-wrangling get up.”

Felicity feels herself smile. She looks down at herself.

“I could stay in this dress forever,” she says.

“And you’d look good in it,” he smiles, “but I need something with pockets, not tailoring, especially if I'm about to chase Oliver Queen down in Vegas.”

“Okay,” she says with a decisive nod and he heads for the door. “I’ll get into the Wynn’s security system for you.”

Felicity hears the suite door close and she walks into Oliver’s room searching for her tablet.

She’s not sure where the light switch is - she hasn't really been in this room before and the layout is different to hers - so she’s feeling along the wall and thinking that she should have taken her heels off already when she feels it.

Cold, sharp steel, pressed against her throat.

“Don't scream,” Helena says, right beside her ear. “I’d hate to have to kill the little Queen girl.”


	17. Conversations

Felicity freezes.

Then her brain kicks in. Oliver may be back in a few minutes. But Diggle will be back in a few minutes. Thea is asleep in another room thirty feet away, not here, not in this room, so Helena would have to cross the length of the suite to get to her. 

If she can delay Helena at all she won't be facing this alone and the only person she puts at risk until then is herself.

She’s suddenly aware that there’s a light switch under her fingertips.

She's standing in the dark with a knife at her throat but she knows where the light switch is.

Wow, isn't that just a metaphor for her entire life right now?

She breathes out, forces herself to be calm.

“What do you want?”

“She speaks.” Helena sounds amused.

“Yes, I do. A lot. At length. What do you want?”

“Last time we didn't get much of a chance to talk,” Helena says and part of Felicity’s brain notes that Pixar really did hit the nail on the head with that whole crazy villain monologue-ing thing. She’s so going to spend a day on her couch watching movies when this is done. She has earned a day off after the day she’s had today.

And it’s not over yet.

But if she can keep Helena talking this should fill the time until Diggle comes back and shoots Oliver’s crazy ex for her.

“Last time we met,” Felicity says, and she’s really very proud of herself for how calm she sounds, “you pointed a crossbow at me and made me hack a federal agency. It wasn’t really a girl-talk kind of situation.”

“I'm hurt,” Helena mock-pouts, and Felicity just knows that she has stuck her lower lip out like a child, “I would have thought we could be friends. We have so many things in common. Oliver Queen for one.”

“I'm not so big on your other hobbies,” Felicity says, but Helena just talks over her.

“Tell me, does he still do that thing where he slips his hands into your hair when he kisses you? I always liked that. Made it feel very real. Very true. Like he really wants you. Needs you.”

The point against her neck digs in for a second and Felicity gasps, feeling the hot, sharp pain of a shallow cut.

She can tell from her voice that Helena is behind her, but all she can feel is the knife - no part of the other woman is touching her at all.

“Does he pick you up?” Helena whispers in her ear, “does he carry you around like something precious and delicate?”

The point at her throat moves again and Felicity sets her jaw. She will not cry out. She will not give her captor the satisfaction.

“Does he lay you down on the bed? Tell you he loves you?”

“You really have given this a lot of thought.” Felicity says when Helena pauses for breath. “Don't you think that Matthew, you know, the man you’re pretending to be in a relationship with, might get a little jealous?”

“Pretending?” Helena says, “oh my dear little kitten, there’s no pretence about it. Or there wasn't. But then it’s so hard to find a good man these days. One day they plan the theft of a century with you, and the next, well, the next they drug your drink and leave you locked in a hotel room so they can keep the prize for themselves. It’s lucky I’ve developed quite a tolerance for Matty’s little chemistry experiments. But considering the prize in question, I think it’s safe to say we’re broken up. Or at least are on a break. For now.”

Felicity blinks. 

“You were in this together?”

“Of course,” Helena says, sounding surprised, “who do you think drugged up you and lover boy yesterday? He was supposed to be lured into doing something that could publicly out him as his masked alter-ego but instead he runs off to marry you. You.” Helena's tone changes to a sneer. “Frankly, I don't see the attraction.”

“Yeah, well, I've never chosen my boyfriends based on whether they have access to roofies,” Felicity snaps back before she can think. Her mind is reeling from all of the information Helena has revealed. Matthew has been in on it from the start. Dammit. She’d had her suspicions but she’d really wanted to be wrong. And every moment she spent in his company made her like him more and more as a person.

He really must be an exceptional actor.

She's almost forgotten the blade at her throat when the cold metal comes up under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back.

“I'd be nicer to me if I were you,” Helena says.

“Why?” Felicity says, “you’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Why would I kill you,” Helena asks, “when I can mar you?”

The edge of the blade is against her jaw now, Helena pushing up rather than across, and suddenly Felicity remembers Diggle’s lessons about being held at knifepoint. Only try and escape when the weapon is against something non-fatal. Use your arms to deflect blows. Use your elbows and aim for the solar plexus to knock the air out of someone.

A cut on her jaw will hurt but it won’t kill her.

“Mar me?”

“If I take out an eye,” Helena muses in a disturbingly calm way, “if I cut up your face and blind your vision you'll be useless to him and every time he looks at you he’ll be destroyed anew for what he let happen. Maybe I’ll even take your fingers as well - prevent you from using those hands of yours to get him what he needs. Leave you blind and crippled, and it will be all his fault. His broken little wife.”

Felicity feels the knife point dig into her skin as it travels from under her jaw to the bottom of her cheek, and she knows she’s heard enough.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?” Helena asks and Felicity can imagine the quizzical bird-like head-tilt that goes with that tone.

“Motivation,” Felicity says and she flicks the light switch on and brings her right arm back to thrust her elbow out behind her, throwing herself to the left.

The room is flooded with light and Felicity hits the ground hard, feeling the sharp pain of a cut opening on her right cheek from where the knife must have caught her as she fell.

She scrambles forward, putting the bed between her and Helena.

She turns to see Helena snarl at her, then the other woman throws herself forward and Felicity dives out of the way and suddenly the bedroom door is right there and she’s through it, running for the relative safety of the main room.

* * *

Oliver has Matthew’s uninjured arm over his shoulder and his own arm curled around Matthew’s waist as they walk in to Matthew’s suite at the Bellagio.

“Couch,” Matthew says, gesturing and Oliver walks him over to it.

“I still think you should have gone to the hospital,” Oliver says.

“My doctor can handle it,” Matthew says, “he’ll be along soon but for now I want a drink.” He waves at a few bottles of spirits standing on the nearby bar. “What's your poison?”

Matthew goes to get up off the couch but Oliver waves him back down and crosses the room himself. 

“What do you want?” He asks as he walks.

“Funny story,” Matthew says from way too close and Oliver is turning in surprise when he feels a needle in his neck and the whole world goes black.

He wakes up to find himself slumped over the couch. His head is fuzzy enough that it takes him a minute to realise that he can't move.

Then everything snaps into focus.

He’s not wearing his tuxedo jacket and his shirt is half unbuttoned. Matthew isn't in sight.

He focuses on each limb in turn - right arm, left arm, right leg, left leg - but none of them respond. He tries to lift individual fingers and toes but his body stays immobile.

But he can breathe. 

And, he realises, he can talk. 

But he cannot move.

Inwardly he curses, focussing his thoughts on his right hand, trying to push past whatever drug Matthew has corrupted his body with by sheer force of will.

He should have known.

He did know.

He looked at that wound and he knew - he knew - that Matthew had done it himself.

He had thought initially that maybe the arrow was so shallowly embedded because Helena was still not a confident shot. But with the distance the shaft would have had to travel from the balcony for it be impaled that lightly was unlikely. Impossible even.

So he had known, but he hadn't wanted to know and he'd gone back to check on Matthew - on Matty - just in case he was wrong. Or in case he was being forced into this by Helena.

But no, Matthew had done it himself. Done it all himself. Blowing up the case and retrieving the diamond and stabbing himself in the shoulder with an arrow.

All under the cover of darkness.

And now - what?

Obviously his identity as the Hood comes into this. Why else would Matthew have stabbed himself with a green arrow if not to try and implicate the Hood?

But why?

Matthew walks back into the room - moving as if his shoulder barely pains him - carrying a bundle of green material.

“You’re not supposed to be up for hours,” he says, looking at Oliver.

“I’ve always had a good tolerance for drugs,” Oliver grits, trying to put as much menace as he can into his words as his voice is the only weapon left to him.

“Ollie, Ollie, Ollie,” Matthew says, shaking his head, “that might work on the criminals you have back in Starling, but I've known you, on and off, admittedly, for almost a decade.”

“Then why do this?” Oliver asks, “what have I ever done to you? We were friends.”

“You mean the sort of friend who slept with my girlfriends, abused my hospitality with that idiot Merlyn and left me to pick up the pieces when the cops or my father arrived? Then, yes, we were friends, of a sort. You kept me on the outside and used me when you saw fit.”

And Oliver thinks, really thinks for a second about how he used to see Matthew - as a tagalong, a person to drink with when Tommy wasn’t available. Just another face in the crowd, even though this one had money equivalent to his own. He remembers Matty being awkward. Gawky. Wanting so much to be Oliver’s friend that Oliver himself was put off by him. 

“Matt,” Oliver says, “if I hurt you I’m sorry, but that was years ago, I’ve changed. I had to change.”

“I changed too,” Matthew said, “it’s amazing what gambling debts and mafia threats will lead to. Broken fingers. I had to go work for my father and he’s kept me on a short leash for years. Years.”

“I’m sorry -”

“I called you,” Matthew says bitterly, “and you promised to help me, promised to lend me money, and then you never did a thing. And then you went off on your boat. Because other people’s problems don’t concern the great Oliver Queen!”

“And that justifies stealing the Logan diamond?”

“That’s just for fun,” Matthew says, “though it has the bonus effect of hurting my Father. No, all that justifies setting up your white knight alter-ego for stealing the diamond, and that’s enough for me.”

“And the diamond?”

Matthew pulls a hand out of his pocket and opens his palm to reveal the egg-shaped stone.

“I had thought to sell it,” Matthew says, “then Helena wanted to chop it up into less identifiable parts to fund that vendetta of hers, and I couldn't let that happen.”

“Noble of you.” Oliver grits out. His keeps his eyes on Matthew but he’s starting to feel the slightest sensation in his fingers and he hopes that means an end to this drug induced paralysis.

“Indeed,” Matthew says, “so I took Helena out of the game and carried out our plan myself. I think it went pretty well.”

“Where is she now?”

“I expected her to be here, just as I left her, but it seems you’re not the only one who has a high tolerance for my drugs.” Matthew shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. You will suffice.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to dose you again, put you in your dress greens, fake a disturbance and call the cops. They’ll find you with the diamond in your possession, arrows identical to the one fired into me and enough evidence of the planning of the Wynn heist to put you away.”

“I have witnesses as to where I was when the lights went out.”

“Yes, your wife and your bodyguard, both of which have been outed as working with the Hood.”

“My sister.”

“Too young, and besides, you may find her memory of this evening isn’t reliable. She did ask me for champagne when your back was turned. I couldn't say ’no’ to a lady.”

“Juliette.”

“Parker’s dislike for me is well known,” Matthew shrugs. “As is her past with you. She’s a tabloid hack with a vendetta. She’s nothing. You have nothing. And no one.”

“You think you have this all figured out, don’t you?” Oliver says, letting his anger show in his voice. He can almost move his finger, almost. He just needs a bit more time.

Time he doesn't have.

Matthew is filling a syringe, and Oliver knows if that needle pricks his skin, this whole thing is over. Yes, he might be able to beat the charges in court, but that’s a big might. The groundwork for the story has been well laid, and if Matthew’s plan works he’ll drag Felicity and Diggle with him into prison. Right now, with the legacy of his mother’s terrorist act hanging over him, any court going will eagerly convict another Queen.

Oliver tries with everything he has to move his finger.

And fails.

Matthew taps air out of the syringe and walks towards the couch, a cruel smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil Queen of Cliffhangers strikes again! 
> 
> But seriously, how many of you saw the Matty reveal coming? Did I shock anyone? Tell me I did...


	18. Rescues

There's a knock at the door and Matthew pauses.

He looks at the door, considering.

Whoever it is knocks again.

“Are you going to get that?” Oliver asks, as if his entire future isn't banking on the fact that it’s Diggle come to rescue him.

“Room service!” Someone calls through the door.

But that doesn't sound like Diggle.

“We didn’t order anything,” Matthew yells through the door.

“On the house, Mr Arnstein,” the unseen porter calls. “Even if you don't want it I need you to sign for it.”

Matthew scowls and puts the syringe down. He crosses to the door and peers through the spy hole, then looks back at Oliver.

“If you do anything,” he hisses, “to attract attention, I will stab this kid through the throat with one of your arrows. That death will be on you and you'll be going to prison for murder.”

Oliver pointedly shuts his mouth and nods.

Matthew turns back to the door, straightening his jacket, preparing his brush off, and Oliver realises.

He just nodded.

Matthew opens the door.

“What is-”

And Roy Harper comes through the door like a force of nature, hitting Matthew in the face with the domed lid from the room service tray.

He flies backwards into the wall.

Matthew Arnstein is a slight man, certainly fit and trim but in a vain way. Roy has spent his life in the Glades and Oliver knows from recent experience that he has a solid right hook and impressive gymnastic skills.

Matthew is outmatched physically on every level by the street kid.

Roy doubles Matthew over with a punch to the stomach, backhands him into the wall, then smashes a glass vase over his head and Matthew goes down hard on the floor.

And stays down.

He's unconscious and drooling, and Oliver can't help but feel just a tiny bit impressed with Thea’s erstwhile boyfriend.

Roy looks from Matthew to Oliver and straightens the stolen hotel porter uniform jacket he's wearing.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at Oliver, eyebrow raised in a challenge.

Oliver considers.

He could try and front it out, but Roy has seen too much, guessed too much and just saved Oliver’s life. If he respects any of that he should talk.

But if he brings Roy into the crusade, it’s only a matter of time until Thea follows. And he will not risk Thea.

Roy shakes his head, incredulous.

“Are you really going to try and deny it now?” He asks.

Oliver sighs.

“No matter what I say,” he admits, “you won't be convinced otherwise, will you?”

“No, I won't.”

“You will not tell Thea,” Oliver orders and he sees a minute expression of teenage rebellion cross Roy’s face. The part of the boy, the man, who will not take orders.

Oliver recognises it. He was it once. Before he learned better. Before he was taught better. 

“Do you think I'm joking?” Oliver says, in as stern as tone as he can manage, “she’s my sister, I won't put her at risk.”

“I love her,” Roy says simply, “I'd never risk her.”

“I'm not making you any promises,” Oliver says, finding he now has the ability to turn his head a little. 

Moment by moment his ability to move is coming back to him. He can’t express in words the relief he feels that his body is his again.

“No,” Roy says, “but I'm making you one. I’ll never hurt Thea. She'll never be hurt because of me.”

“Okay,” Oliver says. “Find something to tie him up with.”

* * *

Felicity makes it to the bar area, then realises she has nowhere to go.

If she runs out of the suite, she abandons Thea to Helena. If she runs to Thea’s room, she brings danger in with her, and Thea might be too out of it to do anything but die in her sleep.

She has to keep Helena here, in this room, until Diggle gets back.

Felicity stops by the bar, eyes darting around the room, searching for a weapon. She kicks off her shoes before she breaks an ankle and snatches up a small paring knife from where Thea had chopped up an apple earlier.

She turns back to see Helena emerge from the bedroom. She's in a long purple gown with a slit up one leg - no mask or leather coat this time.

She holds a single green arrow, its tip already marked with blood. Felicity’s blood. So it was an arrow at her throat and not a knife. 

She raises her other hand and levels a small crossbow at Felicity’s heart.

It looks not unlike the one Oliver used to swing them both across the elevator shaft in the Merlyn Global HQ. If it is the same, it’s a one shot toy - Helena will have to manually reload before she can attack a second time.

So the shot will have to count.

Felicity steps around and back, putting the bar between them.

She doesn't look at the door to Thea's room, doesn’t draw any attention towards it.

She has to keep Helena's attention on her.

Time to be the best distraction she’s ever been in her life.

“You never answered my question,” Felicity says, “why are you here? The diamond is gone, Matty took it, but if you didn't shoot him with an arrow I don't know who did.”

“Probably stabbed himself,” Helena remarks, “we discussed that as an option.”

“Fine,” Felcity says, “crazy but fine. But if that’s the case, why are you here? Is it just revenge? Does the fact Oliver chose me really bother you that much? You had him first after all.”

“Yes,” Helena says, “I did.”

“So that’s it,” Felicity says, incredulous. “All this. Because you got dumped.”

“He tried to kill me!”

“Because you shot his girlfriend!”

“He tried to kill me!” Helena says and Felicity almost feels sorry for her. Or she would if Oliver’s psycho ex wasn’t aiming a crossbow at her. Again.

“He does that with criminals,” she says, “and you attacked first. He would never have come after you, but you attacked Tommy, you went to his house, you came after me and you shot McKenna.”

“I'm not some jealous ex,” Helena says. “I know Oliver. He'll figure out that Matty has the diamond and he’ll go get it. And then he'll give it to me to save your life and the life of his sister.”

“You have a lot of faith in him,” Felicity says. “We thought Matty was an ally - someone you were exploiting, someone he had to protect.”

“Fools.”

“You say that now,” Felicity says, “but didn’t you just tell me he double-crossed you? Seems like we’re not the only ones he fooled.”

Helena scowls and Felicity awards herself points for the hit. 

“If you leave now,” Felicity says slowly, “I won't make it my number one priority to destroy you.”

Helena looks at her, and laughs. It’s a cruel laugh. The kind of laugh Felicity remembers from school, only a thousand times worse because she knows this woman won’t stop at bruises or black eyes. 

This woman will blind her.

Just to cause Oliver pain.

“You?” Helena laughs, “what could you do?”

“I can wipe your accounts,” Felicity says, “all of them. I can cut you off from every penny you’ve ever had. Or will have. I can list you as an FBI rat on message boards frequented by every organised crime network in the world. I can make it so any time you’re caught on camera the FBI will be tipped off as to where you are. Every CCTV camera, every ATM camera, every traffic camera. Every photo taken on a smart phone. Anything posted on Facebook. I will take your life, Helena Bertinelli, and I will end it in every database and line of code and online trick and I know and some I will invent just for you. I will end you. But I won't do it if you run, now.”

“I’ll never run from you,” Helena sneers.

“Good,” Felicity spits back, “I'm going to enjoy this.”

And Thea, whom Felicity has been watching approach all the way through her speech and is the reason she let her voice increase in volume, to cover the girl’s advance and keep Helena’s attention on her, swings an empty bottle of champagne into the back of Helena’s head and she goes down.

The crossbow scatters across the floors and Felicity dashes around the bar to pick it up and kick the bloody arrow out of reach.

Helena lies still on the floor, but Felicity has seen too many movies to want to go and see if the monster is dead.

Thea turns bright but confused eyes on Felicity.

“What just happened?” She asks.

Felicity aims the crossbow at Helena and steps back, pulling Thea with her. 

“Felicity?” Thea asks again. She sounds half-asleep.

Felicity looks closely at her and sees that Thea’s pupils are blown. 

The keylock on the door clicks and Felicity turns, bringing the crossbow around to aim it -

At Diggle.

He blinks, then looks past her to Helena and shuts the door firmly behind him.

“You okay?” He asks as he crouches down by Helena and presses two fingers against a pulse point.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Felicity touches her cheek and feels the blood. She looks at her own fingertips, stained bright red.

“It’s nothing,” she says, “I'm concerned about Thea.”

The girl in question looks from her to Diggle to Helena’s prone body and sways slightly on her feet.

“What's going on?”

“Everything’s fine, Thea,” Diggle says. “Why don't you sit down?”

Thea sits down immediately.

“Is she out?” Felicity asks looking at Helena.

Diggle nods.

“Cold.”

On the sofa, Thea curls her legs up under her and immediately goes to sleep. Felicity blinks.

“Is she drugged?” 

“Probably,” Diggle says, “it would explain her emotional state in the limo. I’ve seen her go through a lot more with less fallout.”

Felicity looks down at Helena.

And realises this isn't over.

“She said Matthew isn’t innocent,” she tells Diggle, and as she speaks the words tumble out of her mouth, faster and faster, “she said he stabbed himself with an arrow so he could steal the diamond. And Oliver is there now. Matthew drugged us to out Oliver, they must have tipped the Post when that didn't work. I don't know why but I think he’s in trouble Digg, I think he’s in trouble-”

Diggle catches her by the shoulders, jarring her out of her babbling.

“Is he wearing a tracker?” Diggle asks.

“Cufflinks,” Felicity says, and runs for the bedroom to retrieve her tablet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day, as promised. Hope you liked!


	19. The deal

Oliver looks up when the hotel room phone rings.

He can move most of his body now, but things still feel sluggish and he’s not confident of his balance.

Still it’s better than it was 15 minutes ago.

He looks at the hotel landline, which rings twice then cuts off.

Roy looks at the phone then looks at him, but Oliver waves at him to wait.

Then it rings again.

“Connection problems?” Roy ask.

“Code for answer the phone,” Oliver says, pushing himself to his unsteady feet.

Roy raises an eyebrow.

“So answer it then.”

“Not that phone.”

With clumsy fingers Oliver picks his own cell phone up from a side table and is completely unsurprised to see it is turned off. Matthew’s doing no doubt.

He holds down the power button and waits for the assault of missed call alerts and texts.

The phone display goes from dead to having bars and the gadget vibrates in his hands immediately.

“Oliver?” Felicity demands as soon as he hits accept on the call. “Oliver, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, ignoring the lingering effects of Matthew’s toxin, “but we’ve got a problem.”

“Join the club,” she snaps, “your crazy ex paid us a visit. Diggle is currently zip-tying her to a chair. She said Matthew...” Felicity hesitates. “She said Matthee isn't to be trusted.” 

“Matthew definitely isn't the man I thought he was,” Oliver admits. “He stabbed himself to frame the Hood for stealing the diamond.” He pauses, considering how much to say. “He’s unconscious now.”

“So’s she.”

“Are you okay? Is Thea?”

“Thea’s fine, she’s just a bit out of it.” Felicity says, “Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't sound fine,” she says, “you’re slurring.”

Damn Matthew and his drugs.

“I'm fine,” he says, “Matthew injected me with something and it’s taking its time to wear off.”

“What was it?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s wearing off.”

“Matthew’s the one who drugged us.” Felicity sighs. “The drugs were his all along. He’s the dealer. And the chemist.”

“Yes.”

“I'm so sorry, Oliver,” she says, “I know how much you liked him.”

“Yes,” he repeats. He looks at Matthew, face down on the floor where Roy left him. “I did.”

“What do we do now?” She says, “they know an awful lot about all of us.”

“Matthew was going to set me up for stealing the Logan diamond,” Oliver says, “I feel like I should return the favor.”

“He knows who you are,” she says and he can hear the fear in her voice.

“I have an idea about how to deal with that.”

“What about Helena?”

He sighs and runs a hand over his head.

“That’s more complicated” he says, “we’ll be there soon.”

“We?”

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver considers how to say this then realises there really isn't a good way. “Roy’s with me. He recused me. He knows.”

“What?” She yells.

“I'll explain later,” he says.

“Yes,” she answers him pointedly, “you will.”

Oliver hangs up the phone, then wonders if he should have signed off with an ’I love you.’ But she didn't say it either...

Oliver pushes that thought aside. Time to go to work.

He reaches over to pick up the bundle of clothing Matthew had intended to frame him with, and considers his options.

“Roy,” he says, “untie him.”

* * *

Felicity paces. 

Diggle has taken up a watchman post, standing ten feet back from Helena, watching the unconscious woman like a hawk.

Felicity is on edge.

They put Thea back to bed an hour ago ago, Diggle carrying her while Felicity aimed the crossbow at an unconscious Helena and tried not to watch the suite door.

But Oliver isn't back yet.

And so she paces.

He called and she did what he asked, but he's not back yet.

It’s unbearable.

And there’s a knock at the door. 

Felicity flies across the room, running the short distance to the door and not bothering to look through the peephole before she opens the door.

“Oliver.”

And there he is. He has one arm over Roy’s shoulder and he absolutely reeks of alcohol, but he’s there. 

She throws herself into his arms and is surprised when he rocks back on his heels at the impact. 

Roy slips away, and Felicity hugs Oliver in the corridor. His arms come up around her and they stand together for a long moment.

His hands come up, one on her back, the other stroking her hair.

It would be a wonderful moment apart from the fact he smells like he took a bath in tequila.

“There’s no one to see,” he murmurs into her hair, “but this could break our cover.”

“Screw the cover,” she says, but she steps back, pulling him into the suite with her and closes the door.

“Did it work?”

“Let’s find out.”

He covers it well, but as she walks with him across the floor she can see that he's still affected by whatever it was Matthew slipped him. It’s not so much that he’s unsteady, more that he lacks his usual physical grace.

She keeps one hand on him as they move, though if he is going to fall she knows there’s not much she could do. He’s far too large a person for her to manhandle.

But then, she does have Roy and Diggle to help her.

When they reach the sofa he flops down onto the cushions. She stays standing.

“You said it had worn off,” she says, in a slightly accusatory tone.

“And you said you weren’t hurt, he replies, “and yet you have blood on your face.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“So’s this.”

“Oliver, you’re moving like a drunk frat boy.”

“All part of my cover.”

“Right,” she says, drawing the word out sardonically. “And how much did you have to lose as part of your cover?”

“Not much.”

Felicity hears Roy make a choking sound behind her and turns to him, eyebrow raised.

There’s a difference in the kid now. When she met him earlier he was a barely contained ball of rage and suspicion. Now he seems balanced. At peace, almost.

He meets her gaze with a rueful expression.

“How much?” She asks.

“Roy-” Oliver starts, but Felicity holds up a hand to head him off.

“How much?” She repeats.

“A hundred and fifty,” Roy says, “thousand.” She can tell that he's trying to be calm. Nonchalant even. But he can't help but choke a little on the number.

She looks back to Oliver.

He shrugs.

“It bought us cover.”

“Were you seen?”

“Oh, yes.”

“He punched a photographer.”

Felicity glances at Roy before returning her stare to Oliver.

“I was supposed to be drunk,” Oliver shrugs, “and he was rude.”

Behind her, she hears Diggle give a small snort of amusement.

“He was rude,” Roy says, loyally.

“This had better work,” Felicity says.

“It’ll work,” Oliver says confidently, “police were arriving as we left. Matthew’s going to prison, and no one’s going to believe a word he says. We dosed him with enough of his own product that he’ll crack under interrogation and the rest will just be seen as crazy babbling.”

“Okay,” Felicity says, “but what about her?”

Oliver looks past her to where Helena sits, unconscious, arms secured to the hard-backed chair with multiple zip ties.

“You got into the Bellagio’s security system.”

“Easily. Child’s play.”

“All right then.”

He nods and sets his jaw.

Then starts to unbutton his shirt.

Felicity sends him a quizzical look.

“Smelling like a drunk doesn’t quite send the message I want to,” he says, then looks to Roy. “I need you out of sight.”

“But-”

“She knows about us. But not you.” Oliver says. “Protect your cover, stay out of sight.”

A muscle twitches in Roy’s jaw but he nods.

“Check on Thea,” Oliver offers, “but don't wake her.”

Roy nods and head for the bedroom.

Oliver pushes himself to his feet and strips the booze-soaked clothing off of his upper body.

His first few steps are unsteady, then it’s like a switch has flipped and Felicity watches as his body language changes from Oliver to Hood. His arms fold and his head comes up and the muscles of his shoulders look hard as iron.

He doesn’t need the outfit, she realises. 

He is the Hood.

Oliver picks up the arrow Helena menaced her with from a side table and moves to stand directly in front of his crazy ex girlfriend.

He nods to Diggle, and his former bodyguard lifts Helena’s head up by the hair and delivers a resounding slap.

Felicity winces, but there’s no one to see.

Oliver and Diggle are both focused on Helena and Roy is out of sight.

She picks up her tablet and moves to flank them.

Her boys. Her men.

Helena wakes after Diggle’s second slap, letting out a soft moan.

Diggle steps back, his expression impassive, but Felicity can see the distaste he's hiding.

They let Oliver speak.

“Helena.”

The bound woman's head comes up, her eyes clearing.

“Oliver.”

“You have a choice,” he says. “You can leave or you can join Matthew in prison.”

“Matthew’s not in prison.”

“No,” Oliver admits, “right now he's in the hospital. Tomorrow he’ll be in prison.”

Helena stares at him, disbelieving.

Felicity pulls up her tablet and starts searching. Really she should have done this before they woke Helena but it didn't occur to her.

But it doesn't take her long to find what she's looking for.

She steps up and holds out the tablet so Helena can see.

Helena’s eyes flick to hers then down to the footage.

It’s about three minutes in total. Three or four different clips, edited roughly together.

Shaky cell phone footage of Matthew being wheeled out of the Bellagio on an ambulance gurney surrounded by cops.

Cops and security guards searching through the wreckage of the Logan Diamond podium at the Wynn.

A hotel employee opening the door to Matthew’s room for the cops. The camera moves in to find the place trashed. Matthew is unconscious and dressed in a knockoff version of the Hood’s outfit. He’s pinned to the wall with an arrow through each of his palms. The Logan Diamond is proudly displayed on a small table in front of him, pristine among the chaos.

The camera has to pull back (though as it seems to be a cell phone it’s more likely the camera operator just stepped back) to show the word painted across both Matthew and the wall.

IMPOSTER.

Helena looks from the footage to Oliver with murder in her eyes.

“Awww,” Felicity says as meanly as she can, “I thought you guys were broken up.”

“Felicity.” Oliver says, and she steps back, following his lead.

“This is your choice,” he says, “and you have five minutes to make it. Leave. Go back to Italy and stay there. Start a new life. Or spend the rest of this one in prison.”

“If I go down I’m taking you with me,” Helena says.

“Not so much,” Oliver replies. “I have witnesses and alibis. And I have your fingerprints on the same type of arrow used to pin your boyfriend to a wall.

“You’ll leave, and you’ll go now. Or it won't be me doing time for assault and battery - I was gambling across town, losing a small fortune at blackjack after all - it’ll be you.

“Felicity has already altered the security footage to show you entering the Bellagio with Matthew, not me. All you've got left to threaten me with is your word. And I'm the only one left who sees any value in that.”

Helena shifts in the seat.

She tries to glare up at Oliver but there’s uncertainty in her expression.

“Why let me go?”

“Because I cared for you once.”

“Once?”

“But you killed that. This is the last favor you’ll get from me.”

Helena looks at Diggle, stony and impassive. She looks at Felicity and Felicity sees her lip curl in a sneer.

And then she looks back at Oliver and nods.

Oliver nods to Diggle and the bodyguard pulls a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and steps forward to cut her bonds.

“Diggle’s going to take you to an associate of mine. He'll see you get out of the country without drawing undue attention. And I’ll never see you again.”

“You’ll never see me again,” Helena agrees.

“We’ll be watching,” Oliver warns her. “Don't test me. You’ll lose.”

Helena’s pretty face twists in an ugly expression but she nods.

Diggle helps her to her feet, reties her hands and covers the binding with a jacket.

And then she’s gone. Out the door with Diggle.

Felicity sees Oliver sag, and steps to offer him her support.

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in close.

“Is it over?” She asks, disliking how small her voice sounds.

“Yes,” he says into her hair. “Yes it is.”


	20. Bedtime

“What now?”

Felicity turns to see Roy hovering in the doorway.

“Now you sleep on the sofa,” Oliver says, a trace of Hood menace in his tone.

Roy quirks an eyebrow.

“You may have been helpful tonight,” Oliver says, “but don't mistake that for my approval of your relationship with my sister. You sleep on the sofa.”

“Fine,” Roy says, “but tomorrow you and I are going to talk. I want in.”

“It's not just me you have to convince,” Oliver says. “We’re a team.”

Roy’s glance shifts from Oliver to Felicity and she can actually see the wheels turning.

“No,” she says, holding up a hand before he can say anything. “I'm not having this conversation now. Today has already been way too long.”

Roy looks disgruntled but Oliver is unmoved.

“Sofa,” he repeats, pointing, “and you’d better still be there when I get up. No visiting Thea in the middle of the night.”

“Fine,” Roy says but his attitude as he crosses to the sofas has more than a little petulant teenager about it. 

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Felicity says, quiet enough that only Oliver can hear.

His hands tighten on her skin. 

“Bed?” He asks, and she nods, then freezes.

She turns to him, knowing her uncertainty must be showing in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says, softly, “we don't have to do anything, just... will you stay with me tonight, or am I joining the kid on the sofas?”

She bites her lip and he raises a hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll stay,” she says and he smiles, warm and wide and happy and offers her a hand.

She accepts it, watching his large hand wrap around hers, their fingers intertwining.

He pulls her gently in the direction of the bedroom and she follows him willingly.

But once the door has closed and the world is shut out and this day is finally over she feels lost.

Oliver steps into the bathroom and she can hear the water running.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, but doesn't make any move to undress. She realises, belatedly, that all her clothes and bags and toiletries and belongings are in the other bedroom, the one she was using before Thea arrived, before she drunk-married Oliver.

Drunk-married.

“What do you think it was like?” She says before she’s even consciously thought about asking the question.

“What do I think what was like?” Oliver says, appearing in the bathroom door with wet skin and a towel wrapped around his neck.

She stares. She’s seen him shirtless, seen him sweaty, seen him beaten and bloody, but wet?

Wet is new.

“Our wedding,” she says, trying to wrest control of her thoughts away from the fact that Oliver is standing there wet and dripping in front of her.

It looks like he just splashed water on his face. The hair above his forehead is dark and spiky. There are water droplets rolling down the skin of his chest and how does he do this to her?

You would think the amount of time he spends shirtless she would have developed some sort of immunity by now.

“We looked happy in the photo Diggle was sent,” he says, lifting the towel to dry his face.

“I wonder who took that,” she says, trying not to stare.

Because even if she is allowed to stare at him now, it’s still pretty rude.

“Can you trace it?”

“Maybe,” she says, “depends how much meta data there is in the picture. Different smart phones include different things. Some do GPS.”

“Interesting.” He says.

“Really?” She asks, “you’ve never been interested before.”

“No, not really,” he says, “but I like listening to you talk about tech. There’s a particular look you get. A very specific smile.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. He rubs the towel over his upper body then throws it back into the bathroom.

“So,” she says, running her fingers over the material of her dress. “Are we really doing this? The marriage thing?”

“Yes,” he says, then his brow furrows, “unless you don't want to.”

“I want to,” she says, “but it’s kinda abrupt, don’t you think?” She tries to keep her tone light, easy, non-judgemental. “I mean two days ago we were just friends.”

“Felicity,” Oliver says, crouching down in front of where she sits and taking her hands, “I don't think we were ever just friends. We were always on the way here.”

“Really?” She asks, “because I know how I feel - felt - but you never seemed to see me like that.”

“I think I needed an excuse to be allowed to touch you,” he says, “so I have that to thank Matthew for at least.”

She looks down, at her hands in his.

“You wanted an annulment this morning,” she says.

“I wanted to take you back to bed this morning,” he counters, “I thought _you_ wanted an annulment.”

“I’ve always wanted you,” she says, still not looking at him, “you had to know that.”

“Felicity,” he says, and his hand comes up to cup her cheek, lift her chin so he can look her in the eye. “We can take this one day at a time.”

She looks at him, kneeling in front of her with his earnest face on. Two days ago they were friends - close friends but friends. Affectionate friends - he always seemed to be touching her shoulder as she worked on the computer - but she’d never thought he’d wrap her in his arms and kiss the back of her neck like he did before the auction went to hell.

She’s played his girlfriend several times on missions; stood with his arm around her shoulders or his hand on the small of her back, but he never kissed her before today.

Or yesterday. But pics or it didn't happen isn't a replacement for memories of her own.

“Felicity,” he says, “what are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking about kissing you,” she says, then realises what she said. “I mean, I was thinking about how I don't remember kissing you yesterday.”

“I've been thinking about yesterday too,” he admits, “and last night.”

She feels herself blush.

“You said you remembered... some things.”

“I do.”

“And?”

“I remember our clothes were stained with something,” he says, “that's why we sent them out for cleaning.”

“What kind of something?”

“Something sticky,” he says, “some kind of fruity cocktail maybe?”

“That might have been at Krystall,” she says.

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

“I remember you wearing my shirt”.

“I wore your shirt this morning too,” she points out.

“Different context,” he says meaningfully.

“Oh. Anything else?”

“Ice cream,” he says, “but you already know about that.”

Felicity feels herself shiver at the predatory look in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says, “we can take this slow.”

“I'm not worried about sex,” she says, “I'm good at sex.” Then she winces, “What I mean is -”

“You’re good at sex,” he grins. “So noted.”

“It’s the emotional stuff,” she says, “I’m me and you’re you and neither of us is exactly prime relationship material. I’m awkward and badly socialised and you spend your nights shooting people full of arrows-”

“To be fair, you do help me with that.”

“And what if we just don’t work?” she says, talking over him.

“If anyone is badly socialised,” he says, “it’s me.”

“I don't have a brain-to-mouth filter,” she replies.

“I probably have undiagnosed PTSD.”

“John diagnosed that ages ago.”

“Diggle is not a medical professional.”

“Like you would ever talk to a medical professional.”

He laughs and she realises that she’s shifted forward so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed and he’s sitting up on his knees and they’re so close to each other.

“Felicity,” he says, his thumb stroking over her cheek and it’s such an easy thing to lean forward and kiss him.

So she does.

“This isn’t solving any of those problems,” he says between kisses, “we still need to figure things out.”

“I know,” she agrees as she moves her mouth to his neck “but are you really complaining?”

“Fuck, no,” he says and then his hand are in her hair, pulling her mouth back to his, and he walks forward on his knees, moving into her embrace, forcing her legs to open around him.

She pulls at her dress with one hand, hitching the fitted material up so he can be pressed against her.

One of her legs is entirely exposed and his hand comes down, running from her knee to her hip.

She gasps and pushes herself forward, trying to get closer to him.

“Felicity,” he says between kisses to her neck and shoulders. “There’s a lot things I want to say to you, but,” and he pauses to bite the flesh of her shoulder and she moans, “I've never been particularly good at talking about my feelings.”

“You have feelings?”

“I have feelings.”

“Strong feelings?”

“Very strong feelings.”

“Good,” she says and pulls back long enough to look him in the eye. “Because I have very strong feelings too.”

He grins and it's the kind of smile she’s seen so rarely on his face. It lights up his features, makes him look young and innocent and soft. Like a man who knows nothing about violence and everything about love.

Love.

Because that’s what they’re talking about, even if neither of them have the guts to say the actual word.

Oliver shifts his position on he floor, so he’s down on one knee.

“I know my last proposal was pretty impressive,” he says, “but I want one we can remember.”

He lifts her left hand and slips the ring down her finger, holding it in place just above her fingernail.

“Felicity Smoak,” he says, “will you do me the honor of staying my wife?”

“Yes,” she says and he slides the ring home. He stands up, pulling her to her feet and spinning her around in the air as he kisses her.

She’s dizzy and she’s laughing and in the past she’s been lightheaded at the sheer proximity of him and now he’s kissing her, and it's so much better than she ever thought it would be.

He stops spinning and lowers her down so her toes touch the floor.

His hand comes up to stroke her jaw where the tip of the arrow cut her.

“We should really have stitched this,” he says.

“It’s nothing,” she says.

“She hurt you.”

“And she’s gone,” Felicity says, “and you just proposed to me again. I have other things on my mind than your crazy ex.”

“Yes?”

“Oh, yes,” she says, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know there is no smut. I had a request to post this on FF.net, so I'm going to make the smut a self-contained chapter that can be easily removed. But I promise it will be posted soon.


	21. Very strong feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the promised smut. Enjoy!
> 
> But if smut is not your thing note that this chapter is nothing but sexy times and there's no plot advancement at all, so if you want to skip over it, I have no objection.

She leads him to the bed, caught up in her own confidence. This, at least, she knows she can do, and really, it’s only repeating something they’ve already done.

Not nearly as terrifying as doing it for the first time.

His hands wrap around her waist and his mouth moves along her shoulders, nudging the thick straps of the dress out of the way.

She can feel the heat coming off the skin of his bare chest behind her and he pulls her back so she’s pressed against him and his hand comes up to slip the dress strap off her right shoulder.

She gasps as she feels his teeth bite down just where the strap was.

“I've been thinking about this all day,” he says between nips. “Been thinking about what I did, what I want to do to you. For you. With you.”

“And?” 

“Everything,” he says. “I want to do everything.”

One of his hands is splayed open on her abdomen, the other drops to her thigh and starts gathering the materiel of her dress, raising the hem, one handful at a time.

And then he bites her shoulder again and she lets her head fall back against his shoulder.

It’s slow build and instant gratification all at once. She's on fire from his mouth on her shoulder, and the soft material brushing against her legs as he slowly lifts it is tantalisingly teasing.

Finally the dress is high enough and he slips his hand under the material to stroke the top of her thigh.

“I can't decide,” he whispers in her ear, “if I want to take this dress off you or not.”

His fingertips find the edge of her underwear and stroke across it.

“I like the idea of touching you under this dress,” he says, “teasing you until you come, and then every time you wear this dress you’ll remember.”

“Whether I'm wearing the dress or not,” she says, “I'm going to remember. I can pretty much guarantee that.”

He chuckles and his hand slips inside her panties and strokes.

“Oliver,” she moans, and his thumb finds her clit and she groans.

His hand on her abdomen shifts up to cup one breast through the dress, his fingers teasing her nipple erect then gently pinching it.

She shudders. She can feel his erection pressed into her ass and she wants to turn, reach for him, touch him. But she also doesn’t want to move at all.

Her arms hang loose by her sides, her hands open and close, looking for something to hold onto. She shivers at his touch.

“I like seeing you this way,” he says and he slips a finger inside her, his thumb still drawing lazy circles around her clit.

She moans and his mouth latches onto the side of her neck, sucking a hickey into her skin.

“Mine,” he whispers, “my wife, my Felicity.”

He adds a second finger and presses down on her clit and she's babbling, her mouth making noises very far from words.

“My Felicity,” he says again and he does, something, she’s not sure what, because suddenly she's coming, her mouth open and keening, her entire body responding to his touch as if they’ve been together for years and he knows all the tricks.

He eases her though the orgasm with his hand, then lets the bunched up material of her dress fall back down to the ground.

He lets go and steps back and she sags a little without his hands to hold her up and then his fingers are on her back, pulling the long zip down and urging the material off her shoulder so it falls into a pool of velvet at her feet.

She stands there in her underwear, her skin flushed, her body still coming down from her release and his hands ghost over the skin of her back and sides, newly revealed to him.

She gathers her wits and turns to see a very smug look on his face.

“Proud of yourself?” She teases.

“Oh, I intend to be,” he says and she steps in, pressing her chest to his and wrapping her arms around his neck.

His hands take hold of her hips and he lifts her and she wraps her legs around him and grinds her soaked underwear against his crotch.

She kisses him, running her hands through his short hair and scratching at his back.

He makes a noise not unlike a growl and then steps forward and lays her down on the bed.

She keeps her legs wrapped around him and he braces his weight on his arms over her and finally, finally they’re wrapped in each other’s arms in a bed.

Felicity feels like she’s been waiting for this moment for a long time.

She tightens her legs around him, pulling his hips down so she can feel the cold metal of his belt buckle press into the sensitive skin of her abdomen.

His hair under her hand is still a little damp and she scratches her nails across his scalp and he deepens their kiss.

She’s breathless and panting, and she has to break away from his kiss just to take in oxygen and she sees the smug look on his face again and so she pushes at his shoulder and he pulls back to sit on his heels, letting her sit up.

Her legs fall to either side of him and she runs a hand through her hair as she gets her breath back.

He’s still wearing his pants - he's still wearing his shoes and socks - so she cocks an eyebrow at him and he takes the hint because his hands immediately go to his belt and start to unbuckle.

She reaches up behind her to undo her bra and then lies down and lifts her hips to shimmy out of her panties.

“Felicity.”

She looks up to see Oliver staring at her reverently and she blushes again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. He’s just wearing boxer shorts now and the sheer amount of skin (and scars) on display is enough to take her breath away. Again.

“Speak for yourself,” she says, intending it as a tease but it comes out in almost a whisper.

And she’s not sure if he hears because the next thing she knows is he’s there in her arms, naked. One arm bracing his weight while the other hand runs up her body from her knee to her face.

She rolls towards him, hooks her leg over his hip and slides her hands around to run her nails down his back and then his hand is on her ass, pulling her flush against him so his cock is pressing against her sex insistently.

“Condom?”

“I'm on the pill,” she says, hesitantly, “and I'm tested.”

“Me too,” he says and something in her face must show because he snorts in amusement. “Full medical work up post-island,” he clarifies, “and I’ve been careful since then.”

She nods.

“So,” he says, “no condom?”

“No condom,” she confirms and she shifts her hips and slides down and then he’s inside her.

His eyes flutter closed and this isn’t the best angle for either of them but it’s incredibly intimate - lying on their sides, pressed into each other, skin to skin from toe to shoulder.

She bites at his lip and his arms wrap tight around her as he turns onto his back and pulls her with him.

She shifts her legs, going up on her knees above him and then sinks down and the soft sigh he lets out as he’s fully sheathed inside her is as much of a turn on as his touch.

“Felicity,” he says and he pulls one of her hands to his mouth and kisses her palm while she settles into a slow rhythm above him.

His other hand is on her hip, and she leans back, letting her head fall back and her hair hang loose. The angle pulls her hand from his, and then both his hands are on her, one on her hip, the other squeezing her thigh and she’s moving above him, revelling in the feel of him inside her.

He lifts his hips, thrusting up as she sinks down and one of his hands slides across to stroke at her clit and she moans.

She’s too sensitive to come again so soon so she takes that hand in hers and lifts it up and then he pulls her down for a kiss, disrupting the rhythm, but that doesn't matter because he’s rolling them so she’s on her back and he’s braced above her and the spread of his chest and shoulders that she’s so admired are suddenly right there near her mouth and so she stretches up, wrapping her arms around him as she kisses and licks at his skin and he thrusts home, so much deeper at this angle, and he’s lifted one of her knees, pinning it against her chest while he thrusts into her and -

Oh.

Turns out she wasn’t too sensitive to come again after all.

She bites down on his shoulder as the orgasm rolls over her and she can feel her entire body tightening and releasing, feel her muscles spasm pleasantly and he’s still moving, fucking her through it and she knows - she knows - that if she opens her eyes and looks at his face right now he’ll be even smugger then before.

But his pace is increasing, his thrusts becoming ever more frantic and she feels his hand on her knee tighten and she opens her eyes in time to see his own release telegraphed on his face and he grunts and sags, dropping his head down to bury himself in her neck.

She strokes her hands over the muscles in his back. There’s still slight tremors running through his body and she wraps herself around him, sliding her knee out from between them so she can hold him close with both her arms and her legs.

And they lie there.

Together.

Joined in the most intimate way possible.

After a minute he raises his head and smiles at her.

“I have very strong feelings, Felicity.”

She grins and pecks a kiss to his nose.

“I have very strong feelings too, Oliver.”

He kisses her, slow and deep then pulls back, moving to lie on his back beside her.

He opens his arms to her and she moves across the bed, pressing her body up against his and pillowing her head on his chest.

She listens to his heartbeat slow, feels sleep coming to claim her and just before she's about to drift away she thinks of something.

“Do you think,” she says softly, “that it was as good as that last night?”

“I think,” he says, kissing the top of her head, “that it’s going to be as good as that every night from now on. And some of the days too.”

She laughs and he chuckles and she can feel the vibration of his laughter under her cheek, and his arms come up around her and she falls asleep, happy in the embrace of her husband.


	22. Coffee

Felicity wakes up first, which surprises her. She would have thought Oliver, with his hyper-awareness and general fear of being vulnerable, would be the first to open his eyes.

Then she remembers that she was the first awake the previous morning and that his chosen career (and this is equally true for both vigilantism or nightclub ownership) is effectively nocturnal. Then she wonders if she, an early bird if ever there was one, has just married herself to a night owl.

Well, at least there will always be coffee.

It’s strange to wake beside him and know that she is actually supposed to be here.

She’s had dreams like this.

And of course there was yesterday. And last night.

But today, today feels like the start of something.

Every morning for the rest of her life could be like this one.

She likes the thought of that.

But now she wants coffee.

Yesterday was a long day and as great as it was to tick Helena Bertinelli and the mystery vertigo dealer off Oliver’s Hood to-do list, they still have all the consequences of their impromptu marriage to deal with.

She lets her eyes drift over Oliver’s unconscious form. Even with the scars (and now that she’s seen all of him she still can’t figure out where the rest of the 20% of his body reportedly covered in scar tissue is - it’s like 8% of him, at the most) he’s a beautiful man.

She reaches out to him almost unconsciously, her fingertips hovering less than an inch above his skin. She can feel the heat of him. She can't quite believe she’s allowed to touch him.

Even now.

Even knowing how much she touched him last night.

Felicity smiles, decides she’ll let Oliver sleep and slips out of bed in search of coffee.

She considers wearing only his shirt, then remembers his sister in the second bedroom and her suitor on the couch.

Robe it is.

She wraps the towelling material around her and heads for the exit.

She pauses by the door, looking back at the bed. Oliver seems to stir in his sleep and she realises she really doesn't want to wake him so opens the door as quietly as she can and enters the main room of the suite.

She’s wearing her glasses, but even if she wasn't, the yelped “eep!” the slight figure dashing from the sofas let out as she ran for her bedroom door would be more than enough to clue her in.

“I didn’t see anything,” Felicity says, amused, “but I should warn you your brother has ears like a bat and he will be up soon.”

The only answer Thea gives is the shutting of her bedroom door.

Felicity raises an eyebrow at Roy who looks completely unrepentant.

“What?”

“That is not the way to impress him,” she says plainly.

“Who says I want to impress him?”

“Oh,” she says, “sorry, I hadn't realised that months of obsession and stalking meant complete and utter apathy.”

Roy scowls.

“I saved his life,” he retorts.

“Thank you for that,” she says, “but you only get to use it once. Choose your moment carefully.”

Roy glowers at her but she ignores him and crosses to the coffee machine. He'll need to work on that if he wants to try and compete with Oliver’s angrier expressions.

She finds the coffee sachets and gets to work.

And it’s just in time because no sooner has the coffee started to drip as there’s a knock at the door and then Diggle lets himself in.

“Morning John!” She says brightly and he grins.

He’s in his bodyguard suit and while he spares a smile for her most of his attention is immediately fixed on the kid on the sofa. He keeps his expression neutral but Felicity can see he’s unsettled that yet another person knows their secret.

“Oliver up yet?”

She shakes her head as she pours a second cup of coffee and offers it to him, black and unsweetened.

“Thanks,” he says, “sleep well?”

And she feels her cheeks burn and Diggle chuckles.

“Very well,” she says but she keeps her eyes on the process of adding milk and sugar to her coffee so she doesn't have to see his knowing look.

“How about your night?” She asks.

“All sorted,” he says, “one way trip to Europe. Hopefully we’ll never see her again.”

“Hopefully.” She agrees,

“Yeah, I’m not very hopeful,” he says, “but it's better than nothing.”

Felicity purses her lips and tilts her head and doesn’t say anything. Oliver’s reluctance to shoot Helena is not something she wants to get into right now. She thinks that if his blood was up, in the heat of combat, he could take her down, but once that moment has passed he can't help but see the woman he tried and failed to save.

Though she supposes she probably should be happy that she's not married to a cold blooded killer.

“You really let her go?”

Felicity looks up and is surprised to see Roy standing a few feet away. He’s stealthy, she’ll give him that. 

Diggle shifts on his feet but doesn’t say anything.

“Yes,” Felicity says, when it becomes clear that Roy won't be taking their silence as an answer. “You knew this last night.”

“I didn't think you meant it. Why let her go?”

“We don't have a prison,” she says and sips her coffee.

Roy’s eyes dart to the closed door behind which Oliver sleeps.

He doesn't say anything but his jaw is set.

“This is neither the time nor the place, kid,” Diggle says and tips his head in the direction of Thea’s room.

Roy tenses and Felicity braces herself for a burst of teenage anger, but then he relaxes, the tension sagging out of him.

“Later?”

“Later,” Diggle nods.

“I'll hold you to that,” Roy says.

“Oh yes,” Diggle agrees, “we’ve got a lot to talk about. Later.”

“Later,” Roy repeats.

Felicity looks from the bodyguard to the street kid and sighs. 

“Coffee?” She offers, holding up the carafe.

Thea joins them shortly thereafter, accepting a cup of coffee with good grace and absolutely no hint that Felicity saw her streak half-naked across the room only half an hour before.

Felicity can’t help but be impressed; if it had been her she’d still be red-faced and stammering. Thea is nothing if not poised.

It’s a curiously easy scene. Felicity sits at the bar and sips coffee while she taps away on her laptop. Diggle is nearby, flicking through a recently delivered newspaper. Thea and Roy are entwined together on the couch, bickering over what to order from room service.

When Oliver appears in the doorway, dressed only in jeans and what passes as bedhead for his close-cropped hair, she can see the moment when he's realizes what awaits him.

She guesses it must be hard to see the two very separate halves of his life combine in one room. He’s blocked from easy view of the sofas and she can see him using the wall mirrors to see Thea and Roy.

He watches silently for almost a minute, his gaze moving from Thea to Roy to Diggle and finally to her. 

She smiles at him and his mouth twitches into a grin before Thea breaks the moment.

“Ollie!” Oliver’s sister waves a room service menu at him. “Eggs Benedict? Or Florentine?”

“Morning, Thea,” Oliver says and ambles to where Felicity sits. He helps himself to the coffee pot then leans in to press a kiss to her forehead and she can’t help it, she blushes.

Oliver snorts at the sight, then turns to Diggle.

“Everything’s taken care of, sir,” Diggle says and Oliver nods.

“Okay,” he says to the room at large, “what shall we do today?”

Felicity clears her throat.

“I, er, there’s something we need to collect.”

“What?”

Felicity tries not to wince but ever since she realised what was missing it’s been playing on her mind and she knows it wasn't included in her bag at Las Vegas Lover’s Lane or whatever that damn hotel was called.

“Er,” she says again.

“Felicity?” Oliver’s brow is furrowed and she can actually read the look in his eyes that's asking if this is a Hood-related topic that should not be discussed in front of Thea.

“Oh,” she says, “no, nothing like that. It’s just... our wedding certificate. We don't have it.”

Diggle huffs out a laugh.

“That’s it?” Oliver asks.

“That’s kinda important, Ollie,” Thea chastises him, “and besides I think it’d be fun to see where you two did the deal.”

Felicity flushes and but she has to admit, she wants to see the venue too.

“So where is it?” Oliver asks.

“I was right about GPS coordinates being in that picture’s meta-data,” Felicity tells him, “I know where we were now."

“Hold on,” Thea says, “why didn’t you know before?”

Oliver sighs and turns to his sister, his hands out in a placating gesture.

“Thea,” he says, “what do you remember about last night?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Thea asks, indignantly.

“Indulge me,” Oliver says, “what do you remember?”

Thea screws up her face as she thinks.

“I remember the press line and some pretty rocks, and, well, champagne,” but then she pauses, “but not much else. Speaking of which,” she says to Roy, “why are you here? I thought you left?”

“I came back.”

Felicity snorts, Roy is going to have to work on his cover stories if he’s going to join the team.

“You were drugged Thea,” Oliver says, “we all were. All the champagne had vertigo in it,” and as he says it Felicity realises that it must be true. What better way to disguise your jewel heist than have no one be able to remember it? She’s so thankful that Oliver insisted they shouldn't drink anything at the event. And that Juliette was there to document everything on tape. “Someone attacked the auction, stole the Logan diamond. The Hood got it back.”

“The Hood,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “here?”

“Before you say it,” Oliver says, holding up his hands, “it wasn't me. I was too busy making peace with your boyfriend there.”

Thea turns suspicious eyes on Roy who nods sheepishly.

“He didn’t have anywhere to stay,” Oliver adds, “so I told him he could have the couch.”

“Roy?”

“What he said,” Roy confirms, “I ran into your brother and we... talked. He offered me the couch and as much as I hate charity, there wasn't a better option.”

“I don’t get it,” Thea says, looking from one to the other. “But I can let it go,” she nods, decisively and Felicity feels relieved that she’s accepted the story. 

“But,” she says, “I don't see how why I don’t remember last night has anything to do with why you don’t have your wedding certificate. Unless,” and Thea’s eyes fix on Oliver, “oh, Ollie, tell me you remember getting married!”

Oliver steps in close to Felicity and squeezes her shoulders.

“Between us,” he says, “we have no memory of the wedding at all. But we’re not admitting to that. As far as the press are concerned this was something that was a long time coming and we just kept it out of the public eye.”

“But it wasn’t was it?” Thea says shrewdly, “because my room was your room,” she says to Felicity. “It’s full of your things. I didn’t pick up on it last night but that's where you were sleeping before weren’t you?”

Felicity looks to Oliver and he nods and okay, she'll follow his lead here.

“Yes,” she says simply.

“And you haven’t been dating my brother for months.”

“No,” she says.

“Well,” Oliver says, “not officially.”

“We were friends,” Felicity clarifies.

“Very good friends,” Oliver adds.

“So what happened?”

“Vertigo takes away your inhibitions,” Oliver says, “you know that. I saw her as if for the first time. I realised how much she meant to me.”

“So you married her?” Thea asks in an incredulous tone.

“So I married her,” Oliver says and there’s an edge to his tone - an ’I will not be questioned on this’ element to it.

Thea is evidently immune to it because she doesn’t let it go.

“What about an annulment?” She says, “this doesn’t have to be a permanent thing.”

“I want it to be,” Oliver says.

“Ollie,” Thea says, “I like Felicity, I really do, and no offence here,” she adds in an aside to Felicity, “but is this really the best move? You were out of your mind.”

“Actually,” Oliver says, “I think it’s the first time I was in my right mind for a long time.”

“That's not comforting.”

“Thea,” Oliver says, “Felicity is my wife and I love her,” and wow if she doesn’t gasp a little to hear it said out loud, “and I'm not getting this annulled. You get mistakes annulled. This isn’t a mistake.”

Thea blinks, then slowly smiles.

“Wow Ollie,” she says, “why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“Thea,” Oliver sighs and Felicity can’t help it, he sounds so put upon and elder brotherly that she giggles.

Thea turns to her and grins.

“So you really don’t remember a thing?”

“Nothing since lunch the day before,” Felicity admits.

“You just woke up married?”

Felicity blushes and Thea shrieks with joy and throws her arms around her new sister-in-law. Felicity starts in surprise, and when the younger woman doesn't let go of her she brings her arms up tentatively to pat her back. “Only you, Ollie,” his sister crows.

She’s still sitting on the bar stool in her robe. Thea is in pajamas and the angle is odd, but she finds herself enjoying the hug anyway.

“What a story!” Thea says as she pulls back.

“A secret story,” Oliver insists, “one not to be shared with your friends or any journalists of your acquaintance.”

“What do you think I am?” Thea chastises, “Twelve? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well, I would do that to you, but I wouldn't do it to her, I like her.” And she hugs Felicity again, who this time is better prepared to have her arms full of teenager.

Felicity looks past her to see Oliver wearing an exasperated expression and Diggle repressing a smile.

“So!” Thea says, “where exactly was it you guys got drunk married?”

“Drugged,” Oliver corrects.

“Whatever,” Thea dismisses, “was Elvis there? Oh, I bet Elvis was there! Elvis had better have been there, Ollie! I have to get dressed!” And she races from the room, leaving the four of them speechless behind her.

Oliver meets her eye, and even though she’s still on edge about the press and the future and just what her mother is going to say, Felicity can’t help but smile.


	23. Certificate

“Seriously?” Thea says, “you guys got married here?”

Oliver tries hard not to wince but he can see her point.

Out of the corner of her eye he sees Felicity glare at the map app on her tablet as if it has personally offended her.

“Isn't this where Brittany tied the knot?” Thea says but it’s clear by this point that she’s mostly talking to herself. 

Oliver hears Felicity sigh.

“1301 Las Vegas Boulevard South,” she mutters to herself, “the little white wedding chapel. It’s famous. Somehow I thought it would be less... I don't know.”

“Tacky?” Diggle offers.

“Cheap?” Thea suggests.

Roy doesn't say anything but his expression says he would if he wasn't trying to stay on Oliver’s good side.

Felicity purses her lips.

“It looked better in the movies,” she says.

“Come on,” Oliver says, “let’s get this over with.”

Felicity sighs again and tucks the tablet back into her bag. As there’s no Matthew for her to play the part of his girlfriend for she’s back in her own clothes today and not the Stepford-wife-like designer sundresses. He likes it. She’s such a colorful person. Bright and sunny.

Or she would be if she wasn't so incredibly disappointed in the reality of a Las Vegas wedding chapel.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he leans close to say softly in her ear, “it’s just a place. It’s not us.”

“I know,” she says.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and walks in. Diggle follows, committed by Thea’s presence to his official role. Not that Thea would notice, she’s too busy listing every celebrity to ever get married here to a surprisingly tolerant Roy.

“I’m Oliver Queen,” he tells the receptionist. “I think we forgot something here the day before yesterday.”

“I don't think so, hon,” the woman replies. 

Oliver blinks.

“I was here two days ago,” he says, “we were here two days ago.”

“That part I remember,” the receptionist says. She’s completely unimpressed with him and he has to admit that’s not a reaction he’s used to.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity says, “I don't understand. We were here, weren’t we? We got married here.”

“No, you didn't,” the receptionist says, and Oliver and Felicity exchange a look.

“Could the GPS be wrong?” He asks her.

“I don't see how,” she says, pulling her cell phone out of her bag and bringing up the picture Diggle sent them onscreen. 

Felicity glances around then taps the screen to expand the magnification.

“See?” She says, “this picture was taken here - there's that cabinet.”

The receptionist leans forward and smiles.

“Such a lovely picture,” she says, “one of my better ones.”

Felicity stares at her.

“You took this?”

“Don't you remember, doll?”

Felicity shakes her head, eyes wide.

The receptionist turns to him and raises a questioning eyebrow.

“No,” he says, “neither of us remember. Anything.”

“Huh,” the receptionist ponders, “generally I can spot the drunk ones. You two sure fooled me.”

“Please,” Felicity says, leaning in to squeeze the woman’s hand, “I'm really confused, we’re really confused, please can you tell us what happened?”

The receptionist smiles fondly.

“Oh, you kids today,” she says, “you didn’t get married. You wanted to, but we were booked solid for the day, so you,” she points at Oliver, “thought it was enough to just exchange rings and come back for the official stuff later.” She smiles at Felicity. “You seemed happy enough about it at the time but if you both don't remember it, maybe it’s a good thing that we didn't have an opening.”

Felicity turns to stare at Oliver. Her mouth is hanging open in shock.

Oliver knows how she feels. He only had two days of being married and now he never was and suddenly he’s bereft at the loss.

“I...,” Felicity starts, “we...”

She grabs hold of the countertop between them and the receptionist and takes a deep breath.

“We’re _not_ married?”

“Nope,” the receptionist says cheerfully, “but we’ve an opening tomorrow if you want to make it official.”

Felicity turns to Oliver and stares at him.

“We’re not married,” she says and he can’t quite identify the tone. It’s not what he would call happy, or sad, just... stunned.

Behind him, Oliver hears Diggle chuckle. 

“Oh my God,” Thea says, “do you know what this means?”

Oliver turns to his sister in time to see her bounce on her feet like a giddy child.

“This means I get to be your bridesmaid for real!”

* * *

Back at the suite, Thea runs around talking color schemes and reception venues and dress styles. Roy is wearing a long suffering look that Oliver has no sympathy for. Diggle is restraining himself to the occasional eyebrow raise and Felicity -

Felicity has locked herself in the bathroom and isn’t coming out. She was calm all the way back to the suite -preternaturally calm really - she didn't say anything while he dealt with Thea’s gushing joy over getting to organise a wedding - but the second an opportunity for privacy presented itself, she took it.

And she hasn't come out since.

He closes the bedroom door, shutting out the rest of the suite and crosses to sit down beside the bathroom door.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he says, “not really.” He purposely pitches his voice loud enough that he knows she can hear him.

But her response when it comes is mumbled and inaudible.

“Felicity,” he says, “I can't hear you.”

She says something but he still can't make out the words.

“You need to let me in,” he says, “or come out. There’s a limit to what I can do on the other side of a door.”

He still can’t make out everything she says in response, but the phrase “go away, Oliver,” comes through loud and clear.

“No,” he says, “people talk in a marriage. So we need to talk.”

Felicity yanks open the door and glares out. Then she has to adjust the angle of her glare because she was obviously expecting him to be standing and it takes her a second to spot him sitting on the floor.

But that’s a second he uses to wedge his shoe in the door, so it’s time well spent as far as he’s concerned.

“We’re not married, Oliver,” she says, and she doesn't sound sad really, just resigned.

“No,” he says, “we’re engaged. Or did you forget?”

“You don't have to do this,” she says, “it never happened, it doesn’t matter.”

“It only didn’t happen on paper,” he says, “and of all the ways for something to not happen, on paper is the least of them.”

“Oliver,” she sighs.

“Very strong feelings Felicity,” he reminds her. “And I say ’very strong feelings’ because this isn’t just love. This is bigger than that. This is everything. You are everything to me.”

“Oliver-” She yanks at the door and he stands up, being careful to keep his shoe in place to keep her from closing the door.

“Very strong feelings,” he says. “You’re my wife, and if I have to stand up in front of the 200 strangers Thea is currently planning to invite to our next wedding and swear it again I will. You’re my wife.”

“You don't have to do this,” she says, “out of some twisted sense of obligation or loyalty. You don’t.”

He reaches for her and she steps back. But to do that she has to let go of the door and so he’s able to step into the bathroom with her.

“Very strong feelings,” he says. He reaches for her hands but she crosses her arms and he doesn’t want to push her. But he isn't going to back down either. “You seem to think that we were only staying married because I didn't have something better to do. I don't have a problem with divorce or annulments. If I hadn't wanted to stay married to you, I wouldn't have asked you to stay married to me. I want to be married to you. I want you.”

“Oliver,” she says but her eyes are wet and even if she’s not looking at him right now he can see his words are having an effect.

“I love you, Felicity Smoak,” he says, and he takes the chance of reaching for her, tilting her chin up so he can see her face. “I want you to be my wife.”

“Isn't this a little fast?” She says, but he can see her eyes now and he can see just how much she needs this reassurance right now. 

“It wasn’t too fast yesterday.”

“It was, you know.” She says, but there’s a lopsided smile that comes with it.

“No,” he says, “it was right. And when things are this right, it's not a question of timing.”

“If I say ’yes’,” she says, “it’s going to change everything.”

“Everything already changed,” he says, “and if you’re really not ready for this, I won’t push you. But I can't let you give up and walk away, not when I just realised how I feel about you.”

He lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her. He keeps it relatively chaste, but she relaxes into it and him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he brings his spare hand up to her lower back to press her against him.

“Wow,” she says when he finally breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against hers.

“You’re telling me,” he says, trying to resist the impulse he has to lift and press her against a wall because they need to finish this conversation.

“Well we certainly have chemistry,” she says.

“You’re just realising that now?” He teases and he’s pleased to see a blush rise on her cheeks.

Then her face falls again. She pulls back.

“What if it’s just chemistry?” 

“It’s not.”

“But what if it is?”

“Very strong feelings,” he reminds her. “Unless the absence of a piece of paper changed how you feel about me?”

“No,” she says, then hesitates. “Does it change how you feel about me?”

“Only to the extent that I'm annoyed we now have to do it all all over again,” he says, “I want to be married to you now.”

“Will there be trouble with the press?” She asks, “with Juliette?”

“I’d call her,” he says, “but I think the revelation that we didn't know we weren’t married because we were both drugged will be much more valuable to her than just letting it lie. We’ll have another ceremony in Starling City, call it a blessing. No one needs to know but us that we aren’t married on paper yet.”

“Oliver,” she says, but he can see she’s wavering. He steps in close and pulls her into his arms.

“Felicity,” he says, “this doesn’t change anything. You’re my wife. I'm not taking off the ring. Say you’ll marry me again, let Thea choose some flowers and we can start the rest of our lives together.

“Say yes,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, “be my wife. Let me be your husband.”

Felicity wraps her arms around his waist and leans her head on his shoulder.

He kisses her hair and squeezes her against him.

He stands there, wrapped in her arms, and waits. He’s not sure where her insecurities come from but it's always been evident that she has them. He just doesn’t want her to doubt him.

Minutes pass and he starts to worry that maybe she won't agree. Maybe she really will walk away. Leave him. 

He drops his nose down to her hair and breathes in the smell of her. He loves it. 

She’s only just become his, so why does she smell like home?

He never wants to give her up.

But he can't make her be his.

If it was just two days, two nights, at least he has memories of some of it. Or so he tells himself. He can't imagine how that could be enough.

He can’t bear the thought of losing her.

So he’s happy, thankful even, when finally he hears her say, “Yes.”


	24. EXCLUSIVE!

EXCLUSIVE! OLIVER QUEEN SPEAKS

The Daily Star’s own Juliette Parker sat down with Oliver Queen and his new bride less than 24 hours after they tied the knot in city of sin! Read the truth about their Las Vegas wedding, those vigilante rumours, the riot at the Arnstein diamond auction and what teenage tearaway Thea Queen thought of the whole thing.

If you’d asked me a week ago I would have put Oliver Queen solidly in the confirmed bachelor column. I would have said that there are far too many women in the world for that playboy to ever settle down. I would have pointed out that he’s made headlines for years - first with underage, then with excessive drinking. We all remember that time he assaulted a photographer and his three arrests, but we forgave him because Starling City has always loved a scoundrel. Especially a handsome one.

We reported all the juicy gossip in our QueenWatch column (read IN OUR ARCHIVE) before he broke hearts when he was declared dead after going missing at sea in 2007. And then last year came the most dramatic twist of all - Oliver Queen found alive by fisherman, shipwrecked on an island in the South China Sea.

Really anything he was going to do after that should be anticlimactic - but this is Oliver Queen we’re talking about. Over the weekend two stories broke about Queen, both seemingly determined to overshadow the news furore when he came back from the dead.

First gossip blogs revealed that Oliver Queen had married Starling City girl Felicity Smoak in the Little White Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, NV.

Then our frequently wrong colleagues in the SCPost ran a front page exposé naming Queen as the man under the hood of the Starling City vigilante.

Both stories broke on Saturday morning, but before the ink was dry on the Post’s weekend edition we had the truth of it from the man himself.

“I'm not the Hood,” Queen said, relaxing in his suite in the Mirage hotel and casino in Las Vegas. He looked in surprisingly good health for a man who recently spent five years living on what he could catch with his own hands, but the sharply cut Armami suit certainly detracts from the castaway image. “The Post once said I was dating Angelina Jolie, so they’ve gotten it wrong before and they’re absolutely wrong now.

“Married in Vegas?” He joked, “that’s me. Hunting one percenters with a bow and arrow? Not me.”

He’s as smooth as he ever was, born of wealth and privilege and accustomed to dealing with the press with a ready answer for everything. His new wife, however, is more easily flustered.

Felicity Smoak was also named in the Post’s erroneous so-called Hood exclusive, but it’s hard to imagine a less likely crime fighter. She’s a delicate beauty, the daughter of a accountant and a high school music teacher, and she admitted that this trip to Vegas is the first time she’s ever ventured more than 20 miles out of Starling City.

She sits beside Queen in a Donna Karen sundress, blonde hair in a neat ponytail and colorful glasses perched on her nose. Despite their mutual attractiveness they make an odd couple. She’s hard-working, a rising star of Queen Consolidated, he’s a billionaire who shirks responsibility. She’s open and honest, he’s style over substance. She practically glows with good hearted joy while he, well, we don't call him Starling City’s favorite screw-up for no reason.

Queen found her in the IT department at his family’s company shortly after his return from exile. He needed technical help and she provided it. But don't you office drones go thinking it’s as easy as fixing a billionaire’s email issues to snag him, it certainly helped that Smoak looks like an angel and blushes with the depth and frequency of the truly innocent.

Queen was charmed, and made it his business to seek her out. Smoak admits that, “I never really thought he would be interested in me,” and that his pursuit of her came as a “complete shock.”

WATCH THE OLIVER QUEEN PROPOSAL VIDEO HERE

VIEW OUR SLIDESHOW OF THE BEST OF THE QUEEN PROPOSAL MEMES HERE

Still what Oliver Queen wants Oliver Queen gets, and Oliver Queen apparently wanted Felicity Smoak.

“She’s my better half,” he told me privately, “she makes me a better person. I’ve grown so much since I met her and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her.” 

“We all have to grow up sometime,” Queen said, “can't stay useless layabouts all our lives...but I'm not trying to save the city. I wouldn’t even know how.”

Halfway through our allotted time together Queen’s younger sister, Thea arrived. Troubled teen Thea last made headlines for her DUI arrest (SEE OUR COVERAGE OF HER ARREST AND MUG SHOT PHOTOS HERE), but has recently been undergoing an image rehabilitation - working at the now defunct CNRI legal aid office and donating her time to help with the rebuilding of the Glades following the Merlyn Earthquake.

Since Oliver Queen’s return from the dead, the siblings have often been photogrpahed together in public. Oliver supported Thea in court, escorted her and their mother to several charity dinners, and, if the rumours are true, warned off the amorous affections of Starling City’s other billionaire playboy, Queen’s equally notorious best friend, the late Tommy Merlyn.

But all that closeness in public doesn’t mean blood runs thicker than water - it swiftly became clear that until this moment Thea Queen had no idea who Felicity Smoak was.

"I like her," Thea said later. "I do. I mean, she’s lovely and so so good for him. But when you hear your brother got married in Vegas to a girl you’ve never heard of, you worry, right?"

She worried so much she got on a plane, arriving unannounced to confront Queen while I watched from the sofa. And wished I had popcorn. 

It was an incongruous sight - pint-sized Thea Queen in her designer spike heels facing down her impressively built brother. David and Goliath indeed. 

And what a Goliath. Oliver Queen is not a small man - he was always tall but his years of castaway hardship have left impressive muscles alongside traumatic memories. 

"Better than Tae-bo," he remarks when I ask about his physique. "For five years all I had was myself. My body. That’s it. I had to be as fast and as strong as I could to survive."

But why maintain the muscles, now he’s safe in Starling City?

"I’m not," he says, "not really. You should see how much bulk I've lost since I got back. But I also know how hard I fought to survive, and letting all that hard work go would be a waste.

"Plus I have to keep Diggle on his toes," he grins, waving a hand at the stoic bodyguard who rarely leaves his side. "He’s teaching me Krav Manga -"

"Krav Maga," his wife corrects and he looks at her fondly and kisses her cheek. She giggles. 

"Krav Maga," Queen continues, "and one of these days I’ll beat him."

"You keep hoping that, sir," his bodyguard, John Diggle, says. It's the only phrase I am allowed to quote him on the entire time I spend with the Queens. Diggle is apparently a man of few words. 

But learning Krav Maga or not, Queen doesn't bust out any moves when faced with the righteous wrath of his sister. Instead he capitulates and it's not long before Thea is dragging Smoak from the room, apparently determined to interrogate her under the guide of girl-talk. 

Oliver Queen laughed when I asked why he’d kept them apart. “Are you kidding me? The two of them together could take over the world and I didn't want them ganging up on me until I absolutely had to!”

When pressed he turned serious. “Privacy is security these days,” he said, “after the Merlyn Earthquake in the Glades, there were threats made against my family. I didn't want to expose Felicity to that.”

And what of his mother who is currently in jail awaiting trial for conspiracy to commit terrorism and murder for her part in planning this very attacks?

“I won't comment on that,” Queen says, “but I will say that she obviously regretted her part in it and tried to warn people. If she hadn't done that more than 503 lives might have been lost.”

He looks tired when he talks of the tragedy, and it must be remembered that while the man himself was unavailable for comment (and reportedly out of the country) in the months immediately after, he has since implemented several Queen Consolidated relief programmes designed to ease the burden of those affected by his mother’s actions. He takes no credit for this, saying all he does is run his nightclub Verdant (READ OUR NIGHTSPOT REVIEW HERE) leaving the business of running QC to better suited hands. But our sources tell us he's frequently seen in the QCHQ. 

“We have to remember that the city survived the attack,” Queen adds, “I'm sure it could have been much worse. And now like all cities in mourning, we can work together and rise from the ashes stronger. Make Starling City into place it can be, should be - a better place to raise our children.”

This impassioned speech is cut short when his new wife enters the room, dressed in a floor length blue Talbot Runhof ball gown - though when questioned she has no idea of the provenance. Girl-next-door Felicity Smoak had to be told the name of her dress designer by her husband.

Though admittedly, most speeches would be cut short at the sight of her. The IT girl cleans up nice.

My time with the Queens (Queen says she’ll keep the name Smoak but the woman in question is less sure) included an evening out at the now notorious Arnstein charity auction held in honour of SLDT, the Society for the Legitimate Diamond Trade. When we made this arrangement, no one could have anticipated how the evening would end. 

On the day itself Oliver Queen described Matthew Arnstein as, "an old friend I'm enjoying reconnecting with." When I contacted him for comment a few days after Matthew Arnstein’s heist put three people in the hospital with crush injuries from the rioting crowd he was less positive.

"I just don't understand why Matthew would do it," he said over the phone, "he had so much going for him and to throw it all away to steal a diamond that he’d never even be able to sell - it’s crazy."

And what of the news that Arnstein attempts to blame the heist on the Hood backfired and left him impaled to a wall with his own knock-off arrows?

"Whoever the Hood is," Queen says, "I wouldn't want to mess with him. I'm really quite scared that people are associating me with him. I hope he doesn’t think I’m a risk to him and come after me. Or my family."

It’s unclear exactly what happened on the evening of the Arnstein diamond auction. Reports vary and rumours persist that many attendees were drugged with some kind of memory altering compound. I was there and I still can't be sure of all the facts. But what I do know (and have confirmed with audio recordings) is that Oliver Queen, his wife and his bodyguard, were by my side all night. So when arrows started flying I can confirm they weren't being fired by those three. 

The Star has reported about Matthew Arnstein’s past gambling and debt problems (READ HERE AND HERE) and were pursued by Arnstein legally as a result. As such we have no official comment on what his motivations might have been. However much we might like to speculate.

When the lights went out at the Arnstein auction bodyguard John Diggle was quick to react, and the absence of injury suffered by the Queens is a tribute to his skill. The rest of the crowd was not so lucky - of the 130 people in attendance, three were hospitalised and nearly 50 were treated for minor injuries including twisted ankles, broken wrists, facial lacerations and for one particularly unfortunate soul, a through-and-through injury to the hand from a stiletto heel. Ow. 

“Diggle is a life saver,” Oliver Queen said later, “in every sense of the word. He’s a veteran and a hero and I owe my life and the lives of my wife and sister to him. Afterwards we were in shock - and so happy to be alive - we had to celebrate.”

Queen won’t be drawn on how much he lost at Vegas’ blackjack tables as part of this celebration but sources say it was close to a quarter of a million dollars. 

So while LVPD officers were unpinning Matthew Arnstein from the walls of his suite like a human butterfly (WATCH THE LEAKED POLICE VIDEO) Oliver Queen was losing the price of a small home to the house. 

He may be married, but it hasn’t changed him that much.

Felicity Smoak undoubtedly has an interesting road ahead of her. Not least because so little is known about the girl who captured the heart of Starling City’s favorite son. To date, this interview is the only one she has given, and it was only when I played back the tapes that I realised how often Oliver and Thea Queen spoke on her behalf.

Interestingly, despite the fact Oliver Queen constantly teased her about her rambling conversational style, she barely said anything on the record. I know she’s scared of kangaroos, and that she likes Android over Apple and that she’s a fan of genre television, but none of that is meaningful enough to quote.

Oliver Queen has found a woman who plays her cards close to her chest. And if Thea Queen is to be believed, that makes them entirely suited.

Words by Juliette Parker

Photos by Juliette Parker, iStock and PA

* * *

“You realise this doesn't completely exonerate you, right?” 

“It mostly exonerates me.”

“Juliette is not an idiot; the piece ends with a reference to you being secretive.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a problem.”

“Most people don’t read all the way to the end, Felicity.”

“I think you’re being naive.”

“Not in comparison to your innocent self Ms Smoak.”

Felicity watches as another news vans pulls up outside the Queen mansion.

“I still don't get why you had to invite the press to our wedding.”

“To our blessing,” he corrects.

She glares at him.

“Because they would have come anyway,” he shrugs, “and this way we control everything they report.”

“I don't like it.”

“You don't have to like it,” he says, “and you don't have to speak to them. I can do that.”

“I've already got one reporter talking like I'm a mystery to be solved,” she pouts, “I don't want to start a ’what makes Felicity Smoak tick’ investigation.”

“Just smile and wave and talk about how happy you are we get to share this moment with our friends and family,” he says, “it’ll be fine.”

“I don't want it to be fine,” she whines, “I want it to be over.”

“I told you we could have taken that slot at the chapel in Vegas.”

“My mother would have killed me if we did that twice. Now that you’ve met her, would you really want to be on her bad side?”

“No,” he winces, “I would not.”

“Still,” she says, “I can't wait for tomorrow to be over. Have things be back the way they should be.”

“Hey,” he says, “isn’t it supposed to be the happiest day of your life?”

“I’ve already had the happiest day of my life,” she says, “this is just a rerun.”

He smiles and kisses her.

It works as a distraction until Thea runs into the room talking about flowers and button-holes and something important about cake and Felicity sighs and returns to the frantic last minute preparations for tomorrow’s blessing.

He looks at the Juliette’s article on the tablet she left behind and wonders just how much more it will take for the press to believe that Oliver Queen and the Hood really are two different people.


	25. Happily ever after

Oliver waits, Walter standing by his side. He had wanted to ask Diggle to stand up with him, but all three of them had agreed that choice might raise eyebrows. And the last thing they need is more curious eyes on them.

Of course the whole conversation would have been moot if Tommy was alive.

Thea had suggested Walter and Oliver quickly agreed. It was a way to bring him back to the family - he had been, after all, a parent to Thea for over five years, and despite his mother’s actions in aid of the undertaking Oliver had to agree she’d made a good choice in her second husband.

The ceremony is taking place in the garden of the mansion, with the reception in a large marquee on the lawn. It's a beautiful day, warm sun and blue skies, and Oliver isn’t nervous, not really, but he is sweating.

A little.

“Breathe,” Walter says softly beside him. “She’ll be here.”

Oliver cocks an eyebrow at his stepfather.

“I'm not worried about that,” he says.

“What then?”

“This is a much larger... production than the last time we did this,” Oliver admits. “Felicity didn’t realise how big the guest list would be. I mean, I don't know half these people; she barely knows any of them.”

“Your sister’s doing,” Walter nods. “And it was certainly shrewd of her.”

“Shrewd?”

“Most of the people you don't know are important to the company,” Walter explains, which Oliver had suspected, so it’s nice to hear it confirmed. “She’s got good instincts for this sort of thing.” Walter sounds proud and Oliver can't help but smile.

The guest list aren't the only ones Thea is wooing on behalf of QC. Bringing Walter back would ease a lot of shareholders’ worries. Thea seems to have developed a knack for strategic planning on a par with Slade Wilson’s.

He certainly wouldn't want to stand in her way.

As if thinking of her conjured his sister into existence, he spies her stepping out of the French doors at the back of the house. She’s in a gorgeous strapless dress in dark red, a bouquet of white and red flowers tied with ribbon clutched loosely in her hand.

She holds out her other hand to someone out of sight, inside the door and Oliver feels his chest tighten.

This is it.

This is the moment.

Somewhere off to the side the string quartet starts to play.

And Felicity steps into view, taking Thea’s hand for assistance as she steps over the lip of the door.

Unlike her last wedding dress, this one is floor length, simple and elegant. Like Thea’s, it’s strapless and he can see tiny glints of light as sunshine catches the delicate beading on the bodice. 

Felicity’s hair is artfully arranged, some curls pinned up while others curl loosely over her shoulders. She’s wearing her contacts and he can see the glint of the borrowed antique diamond earrings Thea lent her.

She’s a vision of loveliness.

Oliver looks down to see Walter’s hand on his arm and realises that he had started to walk towards his wife without even thinking it.

He's peripherally aware of guests turning to look at her or smiling at him but he only has eyes for Felicity as she makes her slow progress down from the house to where he waits. Her father has her arm, beaming proudly and Oliver smiles at the sight.

It’s a small wedding party - Felicity asked Thea to be her one and only bridesmaid, and as Oliver couldn't officially ask Diggle to be anything he declined any groomsmen other than Walter.

He glances to the side and sees Diggle, ostensibly on bodyguard duty (for the ceremony only - Felicity and Thea insisted he should be allowed to stand down and enjoy the reception with Carly). He meets the eyes of his brother-in-arms and sees pride there alongside the reassuring stability that makes up the core of the man.

Diggle smiles minutely, the corners of his mouth just barely turning up and nods, his head barely moving.

Oliver returns the gesture. Diggle might not be his best man in name, but in all other regards it is the absolute truth.

Thea walks down the aisle first and accepts a kiss on the cheek from both Oliver and Walter before taking position opposite them.

And then it’s Felicity’s turn.

The world fades out as she walks towards him and he wonders if this is how it was on that fateful lost day. If this is how he felt when he asked her to marry him in front of a crowd full of strangers, how he felt when he bought the rings, when he kissed her at the chapel. When he made those decisions that changed the course of his life for the better.

His entire world is Felicity Smoak right now - everything else is irrelevant.

He shakes her father’s hand then turns to her. She passes her flowers to Thea and her hand slips into his and they turn together to the city official that was the compromise between her mother’s demands for a Jewish ceremony and his sister’s arguments for Christianity.

Curiously enough, despite the fact he’s entirely sober this time, when he looks back later he can't actually remember the details of the ceremony.

All his awareness was taken up with the woman beside him and her hand in his. He can't remember what he promised, what he vowed. He only remembers their fingers intertwined and the taste of her lips when he was finally permitted to kiss his wife.

* * *

After the ceremony Diggle ushers them away from the crowd into a quiet room of the house and when the door shuts behind them Oliver lifts Felicity up, holding her up in the air with his hands on her waist and spins them both.

She shrieks, half with dizziness, half with joy and he lowers her far enough that he can kiss her, even though her toes are still several inches off of the ground.

“Ms Smoak,” he greets her but she shakes her head.

“Mrs Queen.”

And he smiles, and kisses her again as he lowers her back to the ground.

She pulls away from him and turns to Diggle, wrapping her arms around the man’s waist before he has a chance to get away.

“Congratulations,” Diggle says, his arms full of Felicity.

Oliver steps in and clasps Diggle’s shoulder and then Felicity has her arms around both of them and it’s a slightly odd three-way hug and Diggle is chuckling while she giggles and Oliver smiles.

“I'm really happy for you guys,” Diggle says and Felicity steps back long enough for Diggle to pull Oliver into a half-hug half-back-slap, then leans down to kiss Felicity on the cheek.

“Mr and Mrs Queen,” he says and Oliver grins.

“Mr and Mrs Queen,” Felicity repeats. “I like the sound of that.”

And then there’s a receiving line and photographs and Thea is running around ushering them from place to place, occasionally accompanied by an almost smiling Roy (another miracle, Oliver had been sure the kid’s features were permanently stuck in a half-scowl), and there's no time to think or eat because there’s too much to do and it’s only when they take the floor for their first dance that he seems to have time to just breathe and enjoy the feel of his wife in his arms.

Juliette greets them like old friends in the press tent.

“How’d you like the piece?”

“You made me sound like a naïf,” Felicity says as she hugs her, “as if birds suddenly appear whenever I am near and unicorns eat from my hands.”

“Better an innocent than a gold digger,” Juliette says, “and just who is your dress by, Mrs Queen?”

“I have no idea,” Felicity grins, “ask my sister-in-law!”

“I will,” Juliette grins then checks to make sure that there’s no one else within earshot and Oliver just knows he’s not going to like the next question. For all of Juliette’s friendliness she has an unfortunate talent for finding out things he doesn’t want anyone to know.

She doesn’t disappoint him.

“So,” she asks, “I have a source that told me that this is your official wedding, that you didn't actually get married in Vegas.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Oliver says, “this is just the blessing for our friends and family, we’ve been married for weeks.”

“Uh-huh,” Juliette says, obviously unconvinced, “you do know there are records of these sort of things, right Ollie? Certificates. Marriage licenses. Things you only just signed today.”

“Juli,” Oliver wheedles, “I don't have any more exclusives to give you.”

“Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, when will you learn not to doubt me? I've got something you can answer to keep that nugget under wraps.” She meets his eye and grins even wider. “What do the tattoos mean?”

“What?”

“You might not have tied the actual knot in Vegas,” Juliette says knowingly, “but you did something else pretty permanent. Both of you. And c’mon Ollie, next time you’re pictured without your shirt - and that used to be a bi-weekly event-”

“I knew I couldn't blame that on the island,” Felicity whispers in his ear and he laughs.

“Next time you’re publicly shirtless,” Juliette says, “there’ll be photos and speculation. Give me the skinny now and I’ll let you celebrate whatever date you want as your anniversary.”

Oliver turns to Felicity. Her eyes are bright, slightly drunk on champagne and endorphins. She’s tucked under his arm, with one of her own wrapped around his waist and the other holding her shoes by the straps.

He raises an questioning eyebrow at Felicity and she nods.

“I have to admit, I'm pretty curious about that myself,” she says, “you never really explained it.”

Oliver looks to Juliette, willing her not to have heard that and she rolls her eyes and nods.

“You’ve got to keep her away from my more unscrupulous colleagues, Ollie.”

“I’d like to keep her away from all of you.”

Juliette inclines her head as if to say “touché”.

“Now,” she says, “tattoos.”

“It means partnership,” he says, “it's about two different halves that come together as one complete symbol. Either without the other is less. Together they’re stronger. Balanced. A perfect match.”

“Okay,” Juliette says, “can I see it?”

“No,” he says, “the only person I'm stripping for tonight is my wife. You’ll have to wait for the next time I take my shirt off in front of a photographer.”

“Well, I'm sure I won't have to wait too long,” Juliette teases.

“I need to get my wife back to the party,” Oliver says, stepping back from Juliette to address the whole tent.

“Ollie!” Voices call. 

“Felicity!”

“Mrs Queen!”

Oliver pulls Felicity back with him and she presses herself against his side, looking at the press almost shyly.

“No more questions,” Oliver says.

“How about a kiss?” A photographer calls.

Oliver grins down at Felicity and she smiles at him and tilts her face up to his. 

Cameras flash as they kiss and then they flash even more as he sweeps her up in his arms and carries her out of the tent. 

He’s half blind from all the lights but he trusts his feet and he knows this path and he's able to get them back to the house easily enough.

Her hand comes up to stroke his cheek and he finally breaks the kiss and pulls back to see her curled against his chest, eyes dark, skin flushed.

They’re alone in the mansion’s entrance hall.

“I have very strong feelings Felicity,” he says, softly.

“Me too, Oliver,” she smiles, “I love you too.”

“I’m very happy,” he says, “that you’re my wife. That I get to be your husband.”

She reaches for him and he sees the rings on her hand - the plain gold with the arrow head engraving from Las Vegas and the solitaire diamond flanked by tiny emeralds that he gave her today.

She’s wearing his rings and she’s taken his name and she’s here in his arms, in his house, in his life.

And she will be for the rest of their lives.

“Shouldn’t we be dancing?” She whispers. “Not that I’m complaining, I’m not that great a dancer.”

“You’re perfect,” he says.

“You only think that because I’ve never broken your toes on a dance floor,” she teases.

“I look forward to every time you step on my feet,” he says.

“I’ll remind you of that later.”

He kisses her again and thinks of a partnership that's more than just love, more than just one part of his life, a partnership that runs through everything.

And will do ’til death do us part.

And so he carries her back to the party, but mindful of his feet (and because he likes to tease her) he doesn’t actually put her down on the dance floor. Instead he holds her up in the air, so her feet never touch the ground, and so when they dance together it looks like she’s dancing on air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the end of the story. I hope you've all enjoyed it, especially as it certainly grew in the telling...
> 
> I will post some follow up drabbles but now I need to go work on Prank War, so they will follow in due course.
> 
> Thanks for all of your lovely comments and to everyone who clicked kudos. Reading the comments has been really helpful and kept me going. We might not have gotten here if you hadn't all said such nice things. So seriously, thank you.


End file.
